Harry Potter and the Siege of Hogwarts
by ajarntham
Summary: Cut off from the Order, the teachers and the Ministry, Harry and his friends make a last stand at Hogwarts against everything the Dark forces can throw at them. 7th year, AU [ignores HBP, DH]. HG, RHr, NL
1. Psychomachia

**A/N: **This fic is fully outlined and more than half-written. It will run to twelve chapters (probably a bit under 80,000 words), and I hope to have all of them posted before the publication of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, _meaning roughly two updates per week. Some of my previous writing has been posted at phoenixsong dot net, also under the name ajarntham, including "The Flourish and Blotts Book Hour" which was written as a kind of epilogue to the story I'm finally getting around to here. If that makes sense.

Major characters belong of course to Joanne Rowling. I've also stolen some names from other fanfics I admire. All comments are most welcome; hope you enjoy!

_July 1, 1996_

Somewhere, within the incalculable set of all possible worlds, there must be one or more in which a fifteen-year-old Harry Potter made a fast and easy recovery from the terrible events and revelations at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. But not in this one. Here in this world, in the early summer weeks spent at Privet Drive, Harry urgently sought advice and consolation from people who would understand him, people who had never let him down. Thus he found himself this Saturday morning having another earnest conversation with his father and mother.

In a way it was Version 3.0 of James and Lily Potter who were speaking to Harry now. In the first version that Harry had conjured, James was too solemnly paternal and Lily too tenderly sentimental to be tolerated, and their replacements went too far in the opposite directions: his father all Marauder jokester and his mother a kind of younger, fiercer Molly Weasley. But the James and Lily who stood before the mind's eye now seemed like real possibilities to Harry, so he listened attentively as James assured him he need not bear the guilt for Sirius' death.

"Harry, he was my best friend; if anybody has a right to hold you accountable, it's me. So if I don't blame you --"

"It means that being my father counts for more than being his best friend."

"No, it means I know what Sirius was like and I know something of what Potters are like in situations like that. What do you think _I _would have done at your age if I'd had only the information you had, and only the resources you had?"

"I can testify," Lily interrupted, "that James wouldn't have been any more likely than you were to wait patiently, Harry."

Harry was tempted to reply that he didn't want to take his father-at-age-fifteen as a model, but held back from what would sound too much like an ungrateful wisecrack. Besides, in their previous talks James had already gone far towards convincing Harry that the seemingly indefensible bullying he had witnessed in Snape's pensieve needed to be put in context, that Snape had ambushed his own least-favorite classmates with more dangerous curses than James had used on Snivellus.

The conversation went on, and Harry found himself feeling somewhat comforted until, inevitably, the thought of the prophecy came to the forefront of his thoughts. As always, Lily had an uncanny ability to sense in which direction Harry's mind was turning, and as always she headed off any discussion of what the prophecy meant or demanded by asking instead for Harry to talk about the same set of topics: home, school, friends, girls. Lily asked this time about how Harry was getting along with Petunia.

"Easier when she isn't here as much," Harry grumbled. "She usually leaves on the weekends to be with Dudley at Marge's." Harry went on to describe how, after last year's Dementor attack on Harry and Dudley, Petunia was adamant that her child was not going to stay anywhere near a boy whose status as the prime target for the dark forces in the wizarding world put all those around him in danger, and Dudley had therefore been packed off to stay with his Aunt Marge over the summer. "And Aunt Petunia can't bear to stay apart from her Duddykins for more than a week, so she's spending the weekends with them. Vernon would probably rather join them, but he isn't going to leave me alone in _his_ house."

"There's a lot I could say about my sister," Lily replied, "but I find it hard to blame her here."

"I guess. It just reminds me of my place in this family again, though -- he's the son, and I'm the fugitive alien they have to hide away."

"You know the reason for that."

"Yeah, because -- it doesn't matter what I do, it doesn't matter that I didn't ask to be a target, it just matters that I'm a wizard and she's a complete bigot about magic."

"I know, Harry,andit hurts. I had to live with that too. But honey, you have to realize... It's her son, her home. People have a right to be bigots in their own homes."

Harry was startled by this comment. He hadn't ever thought of it that way, and certainly didn't expect his mother to see things in that light.

"Don't think I'm implying it's at all your fault," Lily quickly added. "Your responsibility is nil, Harry. You were left there. You were helpless. You had no say in it."

Harry murmured, "Dumbledore," to himself and looked up quickly to see if his mother or father had heard. If they had, they gave no sign of it. After a while it occurred to him that his mother had once more diverted any discussion of the prophecy. Harry was about to make another try when James broke in.

"I wish I could meet your friends. They sound like terrific kids."

"They're brilliant. I wish you could meet them too."

James paused a moment before saying, "You've got to give yourself every chance with them, Harry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. It seemed his father was implying something further, but what wasn't clear.

James hesitated, and Lily responded, "What your father means, Harry, is that you need to share with them, be with them, with the living."

"Write them, I'm sure they're anxious to hear from you," James continued. "Get together with them, have a drink with them–"

"James."

"I didn't say what they should drink, dear."

"Yeah, Dad," Harry said, "you didn't say what brand."

"And he isn't going to," Lily said in a firm tone of voice. "But listen, Harry; you know that we would do anything for you."

"I know, Mom; that's why I wanted to have you here."

"And what I think we need to do for you now is something very difficult for us: we need to ask you not to call on us any more."

Harry sat for a moment in stunned silence.

"At least for a while," James amended.

"It isn't healthy for you," Lily said, "to be talking to nobody but us like this, for hours every day."

"You need the chance to talk things through with the people in this life who care about you," James insisted.

"But I'm stuck here with the Dursleys, there isn't anybody here who I can talk to!"

"You'll find somebody," Lily said. "It's one of your magical endowments, Harry; you attract people who can help you."

After a tense silence which lasted some seconds, Harry finally said, "I really didn't expect this, but I guess... If I asked you here so I could get your advice..."

"This is our advice," James said. "Our advice is not to rely so much on our advice." James and Lily smiled, and Harry managed to return it.

"Listen," Harry finally blurted after a few more seconds of silence, "I know you aren't really... James and Lily Potter."

"No, we aren't," the pair acknowledged, and Harry was relieved that they did so readily; it would have pained him to have to fight them on this issue.

"But -- this is hard to say... Are you only in my head? Am I just talking to myself, is that why you think it's dangerous to go on like this, or am I calling some of my real mum and dad from... Do you believe in an afterlife? Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

"I think so, Harry," James replied. "And I can't really give you an answer, except to say that the mind is where all magic begins, and that nobody knows how far it reaches."

Harry turned to his mind's mother, to see if she could give him anything more to hang on to, and she responded with a quotation:

"_I am certain of nothing except for the truth of the imagination, and the holiness of the heart's affections."_

On that note, the imagined James and Lily departed. Left alone, Harry could not recall where he had read or heard that quote from Keats. He did not try very hard to remember.

---------

The next day, Harry was eating a quiet Sunday morning breakfast at the modest home of his aunt and uncle at Privet Drive in Little Whinging. He was seated at the dining table with his uncle, who quietly read a newspaper and stirred some more sugar into his coffee while the nephew toyed with his scrambled eggs and sipped at his orange juice. Gentle noises were carried into the house from the warm spring air outside: sounds of men and women greeting one another after returning from church, of cars rolling down asphalt, of children shouting for the ball to be kicked their way.

_This_, thought Harry Potter, _is the weirdest, spookiest thing I've ever been through in my life._

Harry's presence at the same table as his uncle, seated in a chair ordinarily reserved for real (i.e. normal) family members, eating eggs which were still warm and drinking juice which was still cold, had indeed been the stuff of his wildest fantasies in earlier years. Harry was not totally disconcerted by this unnatural situation because there was no doubt in his mind about its source; just a fortnight earlier, four adult wizards had told the Dursleys they were expecting to hear reports from Harry's own quill testifying that he was not being mistreated by his guardians, or unpleasant consequences would follow. Vernon and Petunia had taken this to heart, with Vernon going so far as to look up the protocols of the Geneva Convention on what might legally be said to constitute "ill treatment." He even shared some of the results of this research with Harry, demanding that he point out to his friends how, by those standards, Harry had in fact been for the most part "well-treated" in the Dursley house, and if he hadn't it couldn't count against Vernon because he and Harry had never technically been at war.

With Petunia and Dudley gone, Vernon had to endure Harry's company without his usual sources of support. To ease the stress of this ordeal, whenever (as now) Vernon was sharing a table with his unnatural nephew, he took care to seat himself at a distance and angle which gave him more than 180 degrees of peripheral blindness to Harry's existence. The TV programming that day was not, however, cooperating. After Vernon had flipped hastily from a channel featuring "Unexplained Mysteries," then escaped furiously from a Wimbledon recap rhapsodizing over a teen phenom who was "a wizard with that racket," he settled on the "Goals!" program, only to hear the announcer exclaiming, "Magic! There's magic in those feet!" With a ferocious click of the "Off" button, Vernon turned and gave his nephew a stare full of threat and reproach. Harry did his best to meet this with an enigmatic smile of his own, one which said, without words, "We have Our ways, you know..." A few abortive splutters later, Vernon stalked out of the kitchen.

Harry remained behind, enjoying the moment of leisure and solitude, until he heard the doorbell ring and saw his uncle rise from the living room sofa to open the door and see off the intruder. Harry could only see a sliver of the visitor from his angle, but made out an elderly Asian man robed in yellow, in a style he remembered as belonging to Buddhist monks. Vernon stared at the man, neither through speech nor body language offering any hint of an invitation to enter. A Buddhist monk in Little Whinging would have been suspicious enough to Vernon in the best of moods, and now he was primed to suspect magical interference. Harry couldn't help suspecting it himself, and drew himself closer to the door for a better look at the stranger, who smiled back at Vernon and finally said something to him that sounded to Harry like:

"Bandit here."

Vernon, nonplussed, narrowed his eyes at the monk.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? 'Bandit here, I've come to rob your home'?"

"No no, that's my name. B-a-n-d-h-i-t. Long _a_, like in _car_." The monk gave a smile of broad relief, as if all possible objections, having been based on this amusing misunderstanding, were now cleared away and an era of friendship were about to begin. Vernon didn't move a muscle of either body or face.

"Well," declared the monk, "as said, I am Bandhit. May I come in?"

Vernon's tried to wrap as much disdain as possible into his "No!" and made as if to close the door. Bandhit held up his hand and spoke again, as if introducing himself for the first time.

"Mr. Dursley, I have been walking a long time, may I come in and rest my feet?"

Vernon stared incredulously. "What -- what do I care how long you've been walking, why don't you get a car like a normal person?"

"Oh. that would be be against the rules of my order. Explaining our rules takes time though. Should we talk about it inside?"

"I don't give a damn about your order or your rules--"

"But you asked me the question; should I not have answered it?"

Vernon had no immediate response to that, which gave the monk another chance to reopen the conversation.

"Mr. Dursley, I find myself hungry, would you be kind enough to allow me in for something to eat?"

After a second or two of flabbergasted silence, Vernon spent the better part of a minute explaining to Bandhit his philosophy about freeloading cheats with the nerve to expect handouts. Bandhit's smile seemed if anything to brighten at this. "Perhaps," said the monk, "you'll let me pay for my meal."

"Why don't you go to a restaurant if you have money--"

"Oh, I don't carry money. Against the rules of my order."

"Do you expect me to take a bloody credit card--"

"No no, as payment, I could share some stories with you; many interesting experiences, over the world."

Vernon was now turning very red, and began furiously denying any interest in anything that had ever happened to the man on any continent. To his horror, he noticed curiosity-seekers starting to peer at the confrontation from the street and from behind windows, and hastily lowered his voice. Bandhit took the opportunity to expand on his offer.

"Are you certain you have no interest in what I can share? I've actually taught many pupils many things."

"What sorts of things?"

"What would you want to learn?"

"What about, '_How to chase away annoying beggars_'?" Vernon pronounced, with a raised finger and a grin of triumph, and made to close the door.

Bandhit raised his own hand higher and doubled his own smile. "Oh, I certainly know how to help with that. May I come in and describe methods?"

Harry's uncle had been somewhat restrained, till now, by the desire not to draw attention to the oddity stalking his house, but that ship had clearly sailed. Vernon let loose with a loud flow of invective, in the middle of which the monk seemed for the first time to notice Harry lurking behind his uncle, and gave him a wave. Harry was not sure how to read this. If, as he suspected, this Bandhit was connected with Dumbledore and Hogwarts, why didn't he say so? Harry's suspicion gained strength when the next line from the monk was, "I have a connection to your family, may I come in and explain?"

The penny seemed to drop for Vernon as well, and he lowered his voice to ask, "What kind of connection?"

"Well, more to do with your wife's family." Bandhit seemed to nod towards Harry. "May I come in and explain it?"

Vernon might well have backed down and dragged the monk in at this point, out of fear of magical retaliation, but this would mean losing considerable face in front of the neighbors.

"You mean, my wife's nephew."

"That's right. May I come in and discuss the connection?"

"So, you're from that school of his?"

"Oh, no," said Bandhit, much to the surprise of both Vernon and Harry.

"You aren't together with, with those men who threat-- who talked to me at King's Cross?"

"Did somebody threaten you, Mr. Dursley? I'm sorry to hear that. No, I had nothing to do with that."

"Not part of all that, then?" asked Vernon suspiciously.

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'all that,' Mr. Dursley. But I have been asked to give some lessons to your nephew." Bandhit nodded again towards Harry. "May I come in?"

"No, you may not!"

The exchange continued, Vernon gaining more and more confidence with each second that passed without Bandhit pulling out a wand. When the monk brought Harry's name into the conversation, suggesting that Harry might use some counseling to help him get over the loss he had recently suffered, Harry felt a moment of near-solidarity with his uncle, who was shouting that the boy could bloody well solve his own problems. Undeterred, Bandhit offered further incentives: that by helping Harry, he could be indirectly saving the lives of many others.

"I don't know them and I don't care about them!" Vernon shouted.

"No, Mr. Dursley--"

"That's right, _Bandit_, I don't care--"

"No, I mean, that's not likely; you and your family are who I'm talking about."

Vernon looked back at Harry with rage, his face plainly conveying the message, _you, your kind, your fault_. Harry was trying to work his own face into a suitable reply, something like, _what, you think I asked for this, anyway I can't just make it go away, so let's deal with it, _but gave up halfway through the _anyway_ clause. By then, Vernon had finally gathered himself and spoke to the monk with a cold anger. "_WE -- _will take care -- of _ourselves_. _WE_ -- don't want anything -- from _YOU_ Now GO."

As Vernon was about to slam the door on Bandhit, the monk raised his arm yet again, more forcefully now than at any time previously. "Mr. Dursley," he declared, "I am a very powerful wizard. If you do not let me in now I will turn you into a small, unpleasant animal. This would distress me very much. May I come in?"

To Harry's surprise, Vernon remained standing, stock still, remained blocking at the door, kept staring daggers at the monk, for three, four, five seconds.

"What _kind_ of animal?" he asked.

---------

After the genus and species of transfiguration were established to Vernon's "satisfaction," and the monk permitted to enter,Harry ushered Bandhit into his room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, he turned back to interrogate the visitor, but was uncertain of the proper form for addressing a magical monk.

"Umm, Mr. -- Reverend Bandhit --"

" 'Professor' is fine."

"Right. Professor, I don't understand; why did you have to go through all that with Uncle Vernon, instead of just telling him who you were?"

"In my tradition, Harry, it's considered a good deed if you give other people a chance to do good deeds; we say, it gives you the opportunity to 'make merit.' Back home, I would just walk about with my bowl, and people would give me food if they wanted to be charitable; I wouldn't _say_, 'Food, please, I'm hungry,' because then they would feel obligated, and they wouldn't gain as much merit."

"So you were trying to give my uncle a chance to be generous?" Harry asked.

"That's right."

On any previous day, Harry would probably have felt nothing but amusement at the thought of the monk pursuing this impossible dream, and satisfaction at seeing Uncle Vernon finally put firmly in his place. But Harry's talk the other day with Lily was still fresh in his mind, and so he thought of the Dursleys' right to their own way in their own homes.

"But Professor, you ended up forcing him, threatening him."

"I know," said Bandhit, "and that means I will lose considerable merit myself. A monk should never use force like that."

Bandhit saw Harry frown, and tried to reassure him:

"Don't concern yourself about that, Harry. I think I have a fair amount of merit stored up already. Your uncle will not bankrupt me." Bandhit smiled broadly at Harry. "Though perhaps in the next life I will have to come back as a flobberworm."

"Professor, I wasn't thinking of -- sorry, but I wasn't thinking about _you_, I was thinking, it isn't right for you to be forcing your way into a Muggle's home by threatening him with magic."

"No, Harry, it isn't right. But it is as I said to your uncle; many lives might depend on your learning some mental defenses."

_Right, _thought Harry, _Occlumency._ _Dumbledore says I have to learn it. _Harry was tired of "have to."

"Sir, I can't let you do this. I'll talk to my uncle. I'll explain how important it is that I learn this defense. But I'm going to leave it up to him, and if you insist on coming in even if he doesn't want you in, I won't do the lessons. There has to be someplace else we could do it."

Bandhit considered this for several moments.

"You are very determined about this, Harry."

"Yes I am. It has to do with something -- someone -- very important to me. I'd rather not say... well, I guess if you're performing Legilmency, you'll find out anyway."

"Don't worry about that, we aren't going to be doing Legilmency and Occlumency; not the way you've been learning it."

"What will you be teaching then, Professor?"

"Several things: meditation, recognition, some other exercises."

"And this is to stop Voldemort from messing with my mind?"

"Part of it is for that, part is to help you deal with the death of your godfather and other matters -- Dumbledore said he couldn't tell me all about these other matters."

Harry started to build up a head of steam once more over Dumbledore's presumption, though the cycle of resentment was actuallybeginning to seem a bit tedious and futile to him already.

"I know that you and Professor Dumbledore had a quarrel," Bandhit said (interrupting Harry's brooding), and reached into his robes. "Dumbledore said to give you this letter." Harry took it and read:

_Dear Harry; I know it will be very difficult right now for you to look with favor on any project originating with myself, but I beg you to try giving Professor Bandhit a fair opportunity; let him prove that his very formidable skill and learning can assist you in developing your own strengths and skills. Please take seriously the possibility that this assistance, this improvement, could become crucial in time. _

Harry thought for a moment that he heard his father's voice once again: "In other words, Harry: don't cut off your nose to spite your face."

----------

As he promised, Harry told his uncle it was his choice whether to allow the wizard monk to enter the house; to his surprise, Vernon only gave a definitive agreement when Harry said he would be forced to leave the house if Bandhit were banned. Perhaps Vernon thought his family would lose its own "blood protection" against Voldemort's forces if Harry abandoned Privet Drive. (Harry wasn't sure himself whether the protection worked both ways.) Over the succeeding days and weeks Harry began to build some rapport with the visiting monk. He did not learn Occlumency, but the methods of concentration he practiced with Professor Bandhit worked to the same purpose by allowing him to spot the look and feel of a projected illusion so he would not be taken in by it. When Harry examined (in Bandhit's pensieve) his memory of the vision of Sirius being tortured, he was shocked by how many vacancies it held; the halls and doors of the Department of Mysteries looked less like the real department he remembered than like an unfinished theatrical representation of it, sculpted out of balsa wood. Reality was something much deeper and fuller.

Harry expected Bandhit to use this opportunity to pursue his second mission: therapy for the poor traumatized youth. To Harry's relief, Bandhit did not offer any words of Eastern wisdom on the topic of the wheel of fate, or make any attempt to prove that Sirius' death fit into any great cosmic scheme. He did say that regular sleep and exercise were useful, in his experience. Eventually Harry became comfortable enough with his trainer/counselor to bring up his feelings about Sirius himself.

"One thing that really tears at me," Harry told the monk, "is the idea that when we saved him, all that we did -- we gave a man back his life, after it had been stolen from him by that traitor bastard and by the sodding, self-satisfied... fools at the Ministry. And to do it, we had to do things that nobody would believe, even wizards -- a couple of thirteen year olds, we turned back time, we turned back a hundred dementors with a spell that shouldn't have been; it came from nowhere, you know -- I couldn't have done it unless I knew I could do it, and I knew I could do it because I saw myself doing it, so how did the 'me' I saw doing it do it? If I'm making sense, sir --"

"Yes, Harry, I get the idea," Bandhit said.

"So it wasn't just doing magic; that was creating something out of nothing. That was... a miracle. And after all that, to have him die because of my stupid--" (Harry closed his eyes tightly and pressed his hand against them). "This big miracle was all for nothing." Harry took some minutes to calm himself.

"You can't say it was for nothing, though," Bandhit finally replied. "You gave him two years of life."

"Not much of a life."

"He got to know that James and Lily's son, his godson, knew the truth about him."

"Do you think that makes it all right, makes it worth it, sir?"

"I'm sure it was a moment of great joy for him," the Professor answered. "It's one you gave him, and he could hold it again and again over those two years. Is that enough to balance out the suffering before, the premature death?" Bandhit paused to consider the question. "I know three points of view," the monk continued, "on how long you need to make life worthwhile. One answer is, unless we live eternally, we have nothing; because anything finite, divided by infinity, equals nothing. Another answer is, any one moment of good that we add to life, that is infinity; infinity means 'not calculable' and we can't calculate the value of a moment of good. So it doesn't matter whether we have that for a second or for a million years or forever."

"So," Harry said, "that's the way I should look at, what happened, isn't it?"

"You should hear all points of view first," Bandhit admonished.

"Sorry, Professor. What's the third view?"

"That's the view we take in my tradition. We say, the greatest good fortune is not to live the longest, or to try to live forever, but to avoid being born at all." Harry's expression must have communicated his astonishment at this. "When you get to be my age," Bandhit said with a smile, "this may make more sense to you."

"I hope I don't live that long then," Harry blurted out, and immediately felt mortified at having spoken so bluntly and disrespectfully. Bandhit didn't seem offended, though; he seemed to be quietly pondering Harry's statement.

"I think," Bandhit finally declared with very sober mien, "that if you follow your path carefully, with the right dedication, you may very well have your hope fulfilled."

It took a moment for the implication of Bandhit's statement to hit Harry, but when it did, he found himself laughing almost uncontrollably. "I'll try," Harry finally got out, then had to cough and try to settle himself, "I'll try to justify your faith in me, sir."

----------

The last stage in Professor Bandhit's course in mental discipline involved getting Harry to identify, and begin to control, warring elements within his own psyche. Bandhit warned his pupil that the beginning of this process was deeply disturbing in what it revealed about the contents of one's mind. "I'm going to perform a spell," the monk explained to the seated pupil, "which gives form to your will, your desires. All of us have many desires, so you will see many beings. Mostly, they take animal shape; you'll recognize them when you see them. They've been part of your mind, part of your dreams, all your life."

Harry nodded understanding.

"But even though you've lived with them," Bandhit continued, "you probably don't accept, acknowledge them -- how many there are, how strong, how terrible. People sometimes faint, sometimes get sick. So I'll ask, 'are you ready?' and you'll say yes; but you aren't ready. That's OK, though, you'll learn. So," the monk said with a disarming smile, "are you ready, Harry?"

Harry tried to smile in return, and nodded assent. Upon this,Bandhit aimed his wand at his pupil's head and incanted some words in Sanskrit.

First came the snakes, dozens of them, undulating through the air and hissing in their secret language a message of vengeance to come after being trodden on so long, opening and snapping their jaws and leaving beads of venom behind, which gathered and swirled into a little sea of poison;

Then the wolves padding ominously back and forth, red-eyed and rabid, turning their mad, baleful glares left and right as they stalked frantically for throats to tear out;

And last a pack of hyenas, drowning out the wolf howls with their own hysterical yells, rolling all over one another sniffing for mates and snarling threats at rivals.

Finally no more beasts emerged from Harry's mind, but those that had were enough to crowd one another into every crevice of the room. Harry looked on, sickened and appalled, at the creatures within him, which were now staring back at their creator with looks of mockery, and howling and hissing defiance at him.

As he was wondering how he could ever face his friends again, Harry heard Bandhit speaking to him:

"You are an extraordinarily innocent young man, Harry."

Harry could hardly believe he had heard right. The monk continued, "When my instructor performed this spell on me the first time, oh what came out...I didn't stop screaming for two weeks."

"But now, sir, you don't... have all that in your head anymore?"

"Oh yes," the monk replied, "they're all still there. Now, let me show you another side of your mind. This you might like better."

Bandhit performed another incantation, and Harry closed his eyes, hoping to behold, when he opened them, a pride of phoenixes and a herd of unicorns. Some seconds passed, and Harry heard his instructor speaking rapidly and excitedly to himself in some language unknown to him -- the monk's native language, presumably. When he opened his eyes, Harry saw Bandhit staring at something too small to make out at first glance. Harry focused on the object of Bandhit's attention: it was a little faceted crystal, about the size of a grape.

"Oh, my... well, well, well," Bandhit said. "It's true, some things don't change, even after thousands of years. Even if the species changes... This is an honor I didn't expect." Harry would have thought this some kind of joke if not for the fact that the monk seemed rapt; he was examining the little grape with the eye of a gem appraiser who had found some long-lost stone of legend. "So, Harry," Bandhit continued, turning to Harry with a triumphant grin, "I understand you love to fly, you took to the air like it was your natural element. Have you ever read the _Ramayana_? No, of course, they don't teach magical classics anymore, too busy showing you how to change porcupines into pincushions. Pardon me, old man talking..."

Harry felt disconcerted at the sight of his usually tranquil instructor seeming to ramble so uncontrollably, and tried changing to a safe subject. "Where did you go to school, Professor?"

"I didn't go to wizarding school, Harry, I didn't need to learn how to curse people. I had private lessons from a monk who was older than I am now."

"What did you learn from him, sir?"

"How not to curse people."

The monk returned his attention to the small crystal floating some feet away. An idea occurred to him. "I wouldn't ordinarily do this," he said to his pupil, "but watch, watch what will happen when I--" Bandhit raised his wand and performed another spell, which -- to Harry's horror -- dissolved the barriers separating the snakes, wolves and hyenas from the little gem. He didn't know what the thing was, but if it was somehow the part of his mind opposite to the fanged creatures, he didn't want the beasts to have a go at it.

Instantly the creatures were all over the crystal, and Harry cringed as he heard a bedlam of hisses, barks and snarls and saw a ferocious contest among the psychic cannibals to become the first to chew the little object up. But one by one, the animals which had made it to the crystal were breaking off and advancing to the rear, putting up howls and hisses of pain as they went. Harry could see that all of them were missing one or more teeth. The feeding frenzy gradually turned into a retreat, with only the occasional hyena, wolf or snake making a dash at the crystal and attempting to chew or swallow it, invariably breaking its tooth or jaw in the process and retreating off into a corner to whimper.

Bandhit banished the creatures, leaving the little grape thing floating by itself, and gestured to Harry to come nearer to it. When he had almost pressed his nose on the crystal he could tell that for all the poison that had been spit onto it and all the claws and teeth that had torn into it, this little piece of his own mind was somehow unbroken, unstained, and unscratched. If anything, it seemed just a little brighter.

"Sir, what do you think -- what does this mean?"

"I think, Harry, that I will give you the opportunity to gain the merit of finding that out yourself."

Harry felt a spasm of frustration -- yet another mentor stepping back, leaving Harry to deal with things himself -- but that settled quickly.

_That's OK_, he thought. _I'll deal._


	2. Fiat Memoriam

**ii. Fiat Memoriam**

_**A/N**__: "Non decipeor" "I will not be deceived." "Vigilem" "Let me wake up." "Libero" "I free myself." Conjugations and declensions in Wizarding Latin may differ from those in Classical Latin._

_July 24, 1997_

Harry was on his knees, trying to crawl towards the small blur of a door a hundred yards away from him before the flames licking the walls a yard to his left and a yard to his right could reach him. There was only one path to follow in this absurdly long and narrow room, but somehow, every ten yards or so, he would find himself going the wrong way and have to turn himself frantically around. He scurried as furiously as possible towards his goal, but seemed to get no closer to it; he tried to breathe the cleaner air at ground level, but saw that each inhalation was vacuuming the black smoke greedily down towards his mouth; tried to scream _Mum, Dad, help_, but was unable to make a sound. As his breath seemed to be giving out, Harry looked up andsaw a pale silvery figure hovering above and in front of him, wand poised to cast. The smoke was too thick to let Harry recognize the face, but the voice that he heard was familiar:

"_NON DECIPEOR,_" called Harry Potter.

The dimensions of the room returned to their normal proportions, the fire and smoke to their natural levels, and the five-year-old Harry resumed his desperate four-footed trek to safety. His older avatar waited for theconclusion to the scene he had witnessed so many times, once in real life and countless times (as now) in dreams. True to the sixteen-year-old Harry's memory, the door burst open and Uncle Vernon rushed to pick him up and carry him out to safety, covering what seemed to the child vast expanses of deadly ground with only three or four giant strides. Little Harry burrowed for safety into his uncle's arms and began to breathe regularly...

"_Vigilem,_" shouted Harry Potter the Elder with a scowl he carried into the waking world.

Harry sat up on his Privet Drive bed, remembering the feel of his uncle's saving embrace and revolting against it. Although the meditation exercises Professor Bandhit had taught let him enter and control his dreams to a large extent, and though the "_Non Decipeor_" spell was supposed to rescue him from false visions, there was still something dreadfully false about the heartwarming ending of this scene. _Uncle Vernon, rushing back into the burning building like a fat, mustachioed Lassie..._ Harry knew he would not be getting back to sleep that night. He located his pensieve, raised wand to forehead, and with a "_Fiat Memoriam_" entered the scene that had given birth to so many of his nightmares.

_Five-year-old Harry looked in fascination at Aunt Petunia conducting the flames of the stove, making them rise and fall with a muttered word and a turn of the hand. Petunia finished cooking and brought the platters to the table. Her attention was fixed on her husband and son, so she didn't notice her nephew creep towards the stove. Young Harry started waving his hands about in imitation of his aunt, "twisting knobs" midair. Nothing happened, naturally, so he started adding some nonsense syllables, mixed here and there with a genuine curse he had overheard. Vernon and Petunia heard those, and turned to rebuke him, only to drop their silverware in shock at the sight of the monstrous prodigy attempting to work wandless black magic. Petunia screamed; the boy started in fright; and the drapes ignited._

_Petunia's scream redoubled. Dudley bawled. Vernon looked at the child Harry with horror, then gathered up his crying son in his arms and waddled double-quick to the door. Petunia followed her husband, still shrieking, as the fires spread through the drapes and woodwork around the room. Just before Petunia got to the door, which her husband was holding open with one arm, she saw the showcase to the side of the door and frantically opened one of its latches. Hurriedly, she gathered as many of her precious designer commemorative plates as she could. After breathing a sigh of relief, she ran out of the house without a backward glance. The door slammed shut._

_Young Harry sat on the floor, not knowing what to do. There must be a reason he had been left behind, they would come back for him soon, and if he just ran out, without having been told to, mightn't that spoil everything? But when the smoke started to fill the house, the child decided he had better act to save himself than trust in his aunt and uncle. By that time, though, it was becoming difficult to see, or to breathe... So he crawled, and the distance to the faint daylight showing under the door seemed to stretch out tauntingly as he moved, until the door burst open and, once again, his rescuer appeared and opened his arms to pick young Harry up._

Older Harry looked at the scene, and his stare combined outrage and vindication. The "Uncle Vernon" who was gathering in his "nephew" was a fabrication, a life-sized Vernon Dursley action figure with a fixed avuncular smile on its plastic face. For this thingto show up in a pensieve meant that young Harry's memory had been tampered with after his rescue, to restore his faith that his stepparents would always – however belatedly, however grudgingly – take care of him; would not, could not, leave a five-year-old child to die an agonizing death rather than turn around and take ten steps through heat and smoke.

Harry had a strong suspicion who was his real rescuer – and obliviator – and a close look at the false Vernon told him he was right. It was the shoes and the socks which confirmed it: shoes with toes so curled and pointed that no Little Whinging Muggle would ever wear them, socks so painfully lime green that no wizard who prized his dignity would ever be seen in them. That left one obvious suspect, and the moment Harry reached his conclusion, the counterfeit Vernon wavered out of existence, and Professor Dumbledore took his place. Harry was almost bursting with anger and resentment, and wanted to be even more furious at the head of the Order of the Phoenix for this fraud and entrapment. As he glanced again at the pensieve scene, however, Harry saw an old man tenderly cradling a child and looking down on him with such obvious fondness that, against his will, the young man found himself invaded by memories and feelings of gratitude and affection.

No such thoughts or feelings came with regard to the Dursleys, however, so at four o'clock in the morning Harry began a frenzy of packing, slamming drawers that had nothing in them he wanted, furiously tossing coat hangers with clothes he would never wear again, tearing up the floorboards covering his cloak and broom. Harry found himself tempted to let out a wolf's howl, both to wake and frighten the Dursleys and to let out all his rage and disgust at the whole past year of horrors; the deaths of Michael Corner and Dennis Creevey, the nightmare at 12 Grimmauld Place... To Harry's surprise it took more than a half-hour of this racketto bring his family up and shouting, by which time Harry was fully dressed and standing at the door, waiting for his aunt, uncle and cousin to make their way downstairs to begin their interrogation. A bleary-eyed, red-faced Uncle Vernon got out one syllable, a "_What_?" before Harry broke in on him:

"What is the meaning of this? what do I think I'm doing–"

"Too bloody_ right _I want to know_–"_

"...disturbing the _well-earned_ rest of _normal _people?"

"Oh_, clever–"_

"...normal greedy, normal gluttonous, normal heartless–"

"how _dare_ you, after we took you in–"

"...you _took_ me? You _locked_ me in, you _left me behind to burn to death_!"

Silence descended for several seconds. ThenVernon stuttered and shook a finger at Harry, saying, "It was..._You _started it, that fire, don't–" and Petunia cried, "You weren't supposed to remember that!"

"That's right," Harry said to his aunt, "it's another thing I 'wasn't supposed' to do; I bet you think you're entitled to an apology for _that_–"

"That was – it must have been twelve years ago."

"And you've changed so much since then, haven't you? so if it happened today, you would take, you would pick–"

Harry looked at the old showcase near him, by the door. There were the same collectors' plates on display, behind their glass protection. In a rage he thrust his fist through the glass and made a grab for the plates. Petunia gave out a cry full of pain and horror.

"You kept polishing them, twice a week, all these years," Harry murmured as he turned them over in his hands. "Every Tuesday and Saturday.Your precious..." He started to raise one plate into smashing position, but stopped as he noticed the blood smeared across its front. The blood, he saw, came from the cuts on his hands from when he had punched through the glass. An idea occurred to Harry, and rather than break the plates he very deliberately rubbed his bloody hand over them, in full view of his aghast aunt. "See if you can get this to come off completely," he said to her. "It's _magic_ blood, you know; maybe it will keep coming back."

The Dursleys remained silent as Harry picked up his bag in one hand, his broom in the other. "So, good news for all of us," he said, "I'm going now."

"What do you mean, you're going," snarled Vernon. "You think you're going to leave _now_, when it's almost over–"

"What do you mean, 'it's almost over'?"

"I get it, you think you're clever, just 'remembering' now, a week before your birthday–"

"My _birthday_–?"

"You're not getting away with this; sixteen years, we've earned what's coming to us: _Dudley!_"

With surprising speed, Dudley lunged at Harry to wrestle him to the ground. With both hands occupied, Harry only had time to drop his things, but not to reach for his wand, before Dudley had him pinned. "His back pocket," Petunia yelled, "he keeps it in his back pocket." Vernon extracted the wand and held it up with a yelp of triumph.

Harry was half-struggling to escape, half-waiting for some accidental magic to kick in and burn Dudley's fingers, but nothing was doing in either direction: Dudley's grip held firm. In minutes, Harry was hogtied to the chair with some rope and cable Vernon had quickly grabbed from the garage, and his relatives all were looking down on him. In a state of black fury, Harry tried to glare holes through Vernon's head.

"None of that, now," his uncle said. "We're just making sure we get what we earned. That's what honest people live by, but I guess you people think you're above that, think you can get out of an agreement at the last minute, after making us–"

"What the _hell_ are you talking about, I never made any agreement with you!"

"Your people did," Petunia answered. "Right after the fire – the fire _you_ started – we were going to give you back. How could we keep a menace like you–"

"You think 'normal' kids don't ever start fires?" Harry snapped. "You're lucky Dudley hasn't burned the house down, smoking in the garage with all those oily rags–"

"He's lying, mom!" Dudley cried.

"I don't care if he isn't," Petunia shouted. She turned back to Harry. "Don't try to get out of this, you arrogant, ungrateful–"

"And what am I trying to 'get out of'?"

"Your debt; the only reason we let you stay in this house, after almost killing us all, was that _your_ headmaster promised to make it worth our while. And the agreement was: we hold out and tolerate you until you're of age, until you're seventeen."

Harry's head was swimming, and he thought he might throw up.

"And now," Vernon continued, "with just a week left, you _conveniently_ decide you can't take it here any more. Well, we aren't having it. You can stay in that chair and eat soup through a straw for seven more days; _then_ go wherever the devil you want, and be damned."

Harry sat back, closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

"How much?" he finally asked.

"You aren't in that league, boy," said Vernon

"_How much_?"

"Half a million pounds," Vernon said. "Have it on you?" In the pause that followed, Vernon chortled at his nephew's silence and helplessness, while Harry reckoned up the contents of his inheritance from his parents, that from Sirius, and the Galleon-Pound exchange rate. He tried to remember whether the goblins were giving him three percent or three and a quarter; either way, if he added all the interest which had accrued to both vaults since the last time he had read his statement, on Sirius' death...

"I'll double it."

----------

It took till sunrise for Harry to explain about his vaults, to endure the explosions from his aunt and uncle about keeping his wealth a secret from them, and to bargain with them for terms of release. Vernon demanded a written contract, which read as follows:

_1) Harry Potter is to return before the end of the day with £1,000,000, such money to consist of 20,000 normal English £50 cash notes, no spells to make them disappear or shrink or turn color or sing or dance or alter their shape or appearance in any way whatsoever at any time subsequent to their delivery; _

_2) Potter will be allowed to seek the assistance of some friend or friends in order to shrink and lighten the cash and place anti-theft charms on it so that it will be certain to come back intact, but the cash must be returned to its normal appearance (see item 1) on delivery, and all such friends must be sworn to secrecy until after Potter's birthday; _

_3) Upon fulfillment of items 1) and 2), Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley will swear never to attempt to force, nor collaborate in any attempt to force, Potter to stay with any of them, either at Privet Drive or whatever location any of them might live in in the future; in return, Potter will swear never to attempt any form of retaliation, magical or non-magical _(Vernon's original formulation had been "normal or abnormal")_, against any of the Dursleys, or against their friends or relatives, nor to request, urge or incite any other person, magical or non-magical, to take any action against them or their interests. _

At the end of these negotiations, Harry's right arm was freed, enabling him to sign the contract. Dudley had alreadymoved behind him, a blunt object ready to impact squarely at the back of Harry's skull.

"Now," Vernon said, "you say you need... this... to make the contract binding." Vernon slowly held the wand out to give to his nephew. "You're going to swear slowly, and clearly, in normal English, or, or–"

"Or if I hear you starting anything funny," Dudley continued, "I can f--- you up so bad even your friends won't be able to put you right. It would just take one swing, and don't think you're fast enough to duck it."

Harry turned towards his aunt, expecting to see her on the brink of a heart attack from the shock of hearing her baby use such language. He saw instead a look of exultant satisfaction in her eyes.

"Alright, I hear you Dudders," Harry said as casually and cockily as he could. "Now, my _wand_ please."

With one more glare and one more warning from Vernon, the wand was supplied. Harry gave his pledge: "I swear by my magic to fulfill, to the best of my ability, all my obligations under this contract." The wand flared. "That means the oath has been accepted," Harry informed his relatives. "If I break it, I lose all my magic; I become a Muggle."

"Listen to the way he says that," declaimed Vernon. "Like it would be a disgrace to be normal, like it would kill him–"

"It _would _kill me, stupid," Harry shouted back. "It doesn't have anything–"

"I won't be talked to like that, boy–"

"–to do with 'disgrace,' Voldemort is doing his best–"

"–you watch your mouth or you'll get what's coming to you, you just swore an oath–"

"–to kill me. And don't threaten me, I swore I wouldn't retaliate, I didn't swear I wouldn't defend myself. Back off, Dudley–_Libero!_"

The ropes flew away, and Harry stood up.

"Now, I'm going to Gringott's. If I'm lucky, my minders will understand and help me out."

It turned out to be Harry's first piece of luck for the day that two of the Order's least stringent members, Tonks and George Weasley, were on guard that morning. Even these two, however, became quickly exasperated with Harry's refusal to explain the particulars of why he needed to make a trip to Gringotts, and why he was going to be leaving Privet Drive right after his return. When they threatened to go in and confront his relatives, Harry gave in and told them the story, complete with a reading of the contract and its clause about retaliation to prevent any temptation to storm into the house and have a reckoning with the Muggles. Tonks started to give Harry a browbeating for his rashness, and George challenged Harry's sanity for throwing his money away. In frustration, Harry turned away, dashed into the street and held out his wand to call the Knight Bus. When it showed up a few moments later, Harry climbed in and the minders were forced to accompany him. Tonks still wanted to continue the berating, albeit in whispered form, but Harry pleaded:

"Not now, alright? Can we just get things done now and have the analysis later?

The ride passed mostly in sullen silence after that, and the transaction at the bank went smoothly enough. (The Gringott's Goblins were not in the habit of flagging or holding up any transactions as 'questionable,' even those which resulted in the sudden and near-total emptying of an underaged client's vault.) By the time the last galleon had been swept up and the last set of hundred-pound notes banded, Tonks and George had cooled and softened somewhat.

"It isn't just my being mad at you, Harry," Tonks said. "I'm furious at the situation, at what happened to you – oh, don't make that face."

"I didn't want to tell the story, I wasn't asking for pity–"

"Well, I'm not giving you pity, I'm giving sympathy, and it isn't something you have to ask for, it just comes naturally for friends."

"We are on your side, you know," George added.

Harry managed a genuine smile. "Yeah. Yeah of course I know that."

"But you still act like a sulky child sometimes, and it drives everybody crazy," Tonks said.

Harry started to flare up at that, but damped himself down and gave another smile. "Yeah, I know that too. But I really don't think, this time... I just couldn't stay in that house another minute. I had to get out of there."

"Well," George said, "One more descent into the bowels of darkest cleanliness and you're out for good... free as a bloody bird... no more worries, no more cares..."

Harry laughed. "George, can you do me a favor; I'm allowed to get help in shrinking this pile–"

"Sure thing, mate. Just let me look at it in its full-size glory for a minute–"

"And there's one other charm that I think you can help with, maybe Fred would be interested too..."

----------

Harry returned with his guards, who left him at the edge of the property. He, or more precisely his valise full of cash (quickly restored to its normal size), was welcomed in, and the Dursleys set to counting it.

"This must be the happiest day of your lives, right?" said Harry. "You get an early payment, and it's a double payment, more than you even thought to ask for."

"_And_ we get rid of you," Vernon said with a grin.

"_And_ you get rid of me. So I think I'm entitled to give a little parting speech. All I want to say is... Aunt Petunia, you said I was 'arrogant' and 'ungrateful.' Thanks I'm glad to hear it. Because if you had made me humble and grateful for all you 'gave' me, it would have meant you'd won. You wanted to beat me down, to beat everything I had of my father and my mother out of me–but _they wouldn't let you do it_."

Harry pronounced these last words with such fanatic conviction Petunia went pale with fright for a moment, whether at the thought of Lily and James haunting their house or the idea that her nephew had gone quite mad.

"You can keep your dead parents' spirit, Potter," Dudley responded, "and we'll keep your money. Your mighty wand didn't end up helping you much, did it? You can't do anything against us now. Looks to me like we did win."

"Oh right, about that– you really should have had somebody who knows something about the magical world look over that contract first."

Three faces looked up from their counting.

"You trying to scare us with a bluff now, boy?" Vernon asked. "Won't work. Won't work with _us_."

"Not a bluff. It's just that when I swore I wouldn't get 'any _person_, magical or non-magical' to retaliate against you... You know, there are all sorts of intelligent beings who aren't classed as 'persons' by the magical government."

The confidence began to drain rapidly from the faces of Harry's relatives. Stillness and silence stretched out, second after second, until the inevitable question came:

"Like who?" asked Dudley, with a quaver.

"House elves – like Dobby, the one who ruined your party five years ago. Goblins..."

(Vernon coughed nervously.)

"...Centaurs. Vampires, of course..."

(Dudley gasped)

"...and werewolves. Like Remus Lupin – you remember Remus, Aunt Petunia."

(Petunia's eyes went wide and her lip trembled.)

"I'm not making any threats, exactly," Harry continued. "Just... I don't know... to let you know you didn't really have all the answers, like you thought you did."

"We still have the money," Vernon spat.

"That's right. You have the money. And it's all legal, you can use it. But..."

"But _what, _boy?"

"Freud had some interesting things to say about money. That's all I'm going to tell you."

Before the Dursleys could respond to that, Harry had left Number 4 Privet Drive for the last time. Tonks and George were ready with portkeys to the Burrow and activated them immediately; all traces of Lily Potter's protection must surely have been stripped completely the moment the contract was fulfilled. As he landed outside the familiar house of his friends and walked quickly to the entrance, Harry indulged in a daydream about what the next days and weeks would bring for the Dursleys as they tried to use that money; their puzzlement as one merchant after another wrinkled his nose on receiving the bill and gave a sniff of disgust and a stare of disdain at the people trying to pass this disgusting, odorous thing off on him. The smell of Dungbombs had that effect on people – unless they had received a counter-charm, like the Dursleys had when they touched the valise – and the money was saturated with that smell. Although such bills were still 'legal tender,' after a while there wouldn't be a store in all Surrey which would take Dursley money. And if Harry knew his Aunt Petunia, the plates on which he had wiped his bloody hands would haunt her forever; she would never be able to bring herself to sell them or throw them away, but all the rubbing of all the porcelain polish in the world wouldn't convince her that the blood was out for good. She would wake up in the middle of the night with the blood crying out to her, and have to go down and rub off the marks that were quite invisible to anyone not haunted by a paranoid imagination about "magical blood."

Some satisfaction, then, in salvaging at least a bit of humorous vengeance from this miserable day. But when all was said and done, at the end of that day Harry Potter, fated guardian of the wizarding world, was homeless and destitute.


	3. Bonded

_**June 30, 1997 (The Burrow)**_

"_Question Four_," Ginny intoned. "This one I remember clearly: 'Define the following, explaining their significance in the Muggle world. _**1) **_The National Gallery; _**2) **_Garbo's Salary; _**3)**_ Cellophane. In what way would each be considered 'The Top'?"

"The National Gallery is where they keep all the paintings of the Muggle kings," Ron pronounced, "like Henry the Eighth and, um...Henry the Ninth, and Henry the Tenth. And I don't know why they're so significant since they don't talk; it isn't as if they can give you any advice. Not that I would take any advice from any of those Henries, they were all nutters. Except maybe for Henry the Eleventh, he had his moments."

"They don't give credit for showing you can count, Ron. There haven't been any Henries after the Eighth. And that would be the National _Portrait_ Galley in any case, which is a separate museum. And it doesn't just have portraits of kings and queens, there are other famous English men and women. The National Gallery–"

"Hold off a moment, Hermione," Ron interrupted. "What about you, Harry, you think you could have handled that one?"

"I guess it's the biggest museum in England. And it's supposed to have some of the most famous paintings in the world, by the most famous artists."

"Name three."

"Well, Ron, that would include Rembrandt, um, Rembrandt the Second, Rembrandt the Third–"

"Very good, Mr. Potter! Take a hundred points for Gryffindor. You see, Hermione, we men aren't as uncultured as you think. Oh, sorry mate, we can't call you a man for another twelve hours."

"And we can't call _you_ a man," Ginny said to her brother, "without splitting a gut laughing. Hermione, what's the real answer?"

"Harry has the basics right. I mean, aside from the nonsense about the Rembrandts."

"OK, I think I got that one then. Now 'Garbo's salary,' she was an actress, right? In silent movies?"

"_Silent_ movies?" Ron asked, "What's the point of that?"

"They're actually kind of... eerie," Harry said. "Sometimes I managed to see regular movies on television at Privet Drive, and... you know they're just a show. But once I saw in the paper that _Phantom of the Opera_ would be showing late at night, so I snuck down to see it – you know, no sound, no waking the Dursleys. Like I said, it was eerie – with the flickering of the screen, and the silence, it was almost like walking through somebody's dream, or seeing something happening in another dimension–"

"That foggy, underwater feeling," Ginny said.

Harry started and looked in surprise at Ginny. He had, in fact, just been thinking of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament with its blurry vision and spooky silence, and it took a moment for him to remember that Ginny had her own experience with a kind of sleepwalking semi-conscious state. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment, which was returned.

Hermione returned to the original subject, Ginny's Muggle Studies OWL. "Garbo starred in talking pictures. Ginny, you're probably thinking of her reputation after she retired; she was very private, didn't want to talk to anyone–idol of millions, but tragically alone."

"Not that moody crap again," Ron said. "Sounds like Harry beginning of last year."

"He thought he'd catch more girls that way," Ginny added "until I set him straight."

"First of all," Harry replied "it was Hermione who said that girls go for the broody disturbed type, not me–"

"I said _some_ girls–"

"I think you said 'a lot' of girls. Anyway, Ginny, you didn't say she was wrong."

"What did I say?" Ginny asked casually, and Harry suddenly realized this was a kind of exam itself. On the positive side, he knew the answer for certain; on the negative side, showing that he knew the answer so well might leave certain implications that he wasn't sure he wanted to leave just yet. Something pushed him to tell it as it was: perhaps Harry's general (though hardly absolute) habit of honesty with his friends, or perhaps his bullish hatred of admitting defeat to any challenge; or perhaps some third thing...

"You said, 'I like him better when he smiles,' " Harry replied quietly but firmly. "And I said, 'Well, that settles it then'."

And with that a quick series of such smiles were shuttled back and forth, first between Harry and Ginny, then among the whole quartet as if in anunorthodox doubles match where each player might volley the incoming strike towards any of the other three. Before things got too awkward and self-conscious, Ginny returned again to the lesson at hand.

"So I should get at least half-credit for the 'Garbo' answer, and of course 'cellophane' was easy–"

"How can you say 'cellophane' was easy?" asked Hermione. "Everybody who ever listens to the song gets thrown by that line!"

"Not if you were brought up in this house," Ron scoffed. "Dad used to give us weekly lectures on the wonders of cellophane. 'It's just amazing what these Muggles have done – almost like having a mild imperturbable charm _and_ a short-term preservation charm on one thin sheet.' "

Harry and Hermione looked incredulous. "Has anybody told him about Saran Wrap?" Harry finally asked, then had to explain its miraculous properties. Ron and Ginny agreed that news of a metamorphic Muggle film with a Sticking Charm equivalent might be too much for their father to handle.

Some time later, Molly Weasley interrupted the foursome with news that Professor Dumbledore was downstairs, waiting to talk to Harry. It was an encounter Harry had been glad to put off until now; the part of him that still hissed in resentment towards the old man was mostly exorcised by now, but its remnant didn't welcome the Headmaster's presence, while the part that felt guilty over all that nursing of grievance expected more guilt to bepressed on him over his sudden abandonment of his safe haven, and all the work the Order must have done to bring him safely to the Burrow. Harry also knew, from the Weasleys, that the Order had arranged for a special ceremony upon his coming of age tomorrow, a kind of magical adoption ritual, which Harry understood would act as a kind of second-best form of protection now that the blood protection had been dismissed. To Harry's relief Professor Dumbledore did not begin with any recriminations, but with a request that Harry ask the questions he must have about this adoption.

"Actually, sir," Harry began, "I honestly don't know much about what it involves, just that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said orphaned wizards could be magically joined to a new family. Professor, the Weasleys have been... I don't know a better family, but I don't know about becoming a Weasley myself–"

"Let me stop you there, Harry; you would not become a Weasley through this ritual. It is more complex than that. The ritual does not incorporate you into an already existing family, as Muggle adoption does. It creates a new family, which may consist of members of any numbers of families, so your new family would not consist only of Weasleys but of others who are willing to swear the oath to you and to whom you are willing to swear a reciprocal oath."

"So other people are coming tomorrow, to adopt– well, to become my–" Harry paused, unsure what term fit.

"_Comes contectum_ is the technical term," Dumbledore said; "'bonded comrades' is perhaps the closest translation. 'Brothers and sisters' would be appropriate for the most part, with the important exception that the _comes_ relationship does not prevent marriage or romantic attachments between 'siblings.' "

"Does everybody who's invited into the family know that?" Harry asked, hoping that if so he could probably count on one additional family member. "And do they – it seems odd, sir, that they're coming here on such short notice, and without even knowing whether they'll be accepted. Is that fair to them?"

"In answer to your first question, Harry, all those who have been raised in the wizarding world know this. Are there any Muggle-born or Muggle-raised witches whom you would see as hesitating over this question?"

"No sir."

"As to your second question, think of it this way, Harry: if Ron or Hermione, for example, said they wanted your presence tomorrow for some purpose which was vital to their future happiness, would you need to consult your calendar to determine whether you could accommodate them? Of course you wouldn't. You would drop any plans you had previously made in order to go to them. And that is one criterion by which we know that your attachment to them is a powerful one, and that you are a proper candidate for the _comes contectum_."

"Alright," Harry acceded. "And when you say 'brothers and sisters', you mean that even if anybody much older than me takes part in the ritual, they still are... aren't–"

"There isn't any age hierarchy in this bond, Harry; nothing like the parent-child relation, if that is what troubles you."

"Yes sir. I think I feel better knowing that nobody will be trying to, to replace them."

There was silence for a few seconds, during which Dumbledore looked at Harry keenly. "Harry," he finally asked, "are you still holding conversations in your mind with your late parents?"

Harry looked up with jaws clenched. "Yeah," he answered, "Every now and then."

"I know you do not wish to be prodded on this topic, Harry, but you must indulge me. When you were a first year, I felt obliged to warn you of the effects of the Mirror of Erised–"

"It isn't the same thing," Harry interrupted.

"Not the same," Dumbledore conceded, "but what you do when you engage in these dialogues is also a form of escape. You enter a state much like self-hypnosis. You trigger the same centers of the brain which become active under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs."

Harry bristled, and was on the verge of rebuking the Headmaster for insulting his parents – the memory of his parents – but couldn't find the words without sounding as if he were under the very delusion Dumbledore was warning him against: that the people in his mind really were James and Lily Potter. "Well," Harry finally declared, "they haven't let me down yet."

The moment the sentence was out of his mouth Harry recognized that he had – slightly but unmistakably – underlined the word "_they_" in speaking it. He also immediately recognized that Dumbledore's face had – slightly but unmistakably – fallen in response.

"Sir – Professor Dumbledore – that wasn't what I wanted to say. I mean, I didn't want to say it that way."

"I understand, Harry," Dumbledore said with a deprecatory gesture.

"Sir, I really want to clarify this," Harry pressed on. "We did try to clear the air between us at the end of last term. And I'm glad we did. But then, when I found out about that arrangement you had made with the Dursleys, even though I know you thought you were protecting me, it felt so horribly wrong. It was as if, my parents gave their lives to save me, and now the Order was taking that and trying to pay, to, to buy an extended warranty on that protection service. And buying it from the Dursleys: what was I to them?" By this point, Harry was starting to wave his arms and raise his voice. "I was supposed to believe the lie that I was in my _home, _but really to them, I was... a dangerous animal. And they were being given a keeper's fee to shelter it and feed it."

Dumbledore placed his chin in his hands for several seconds. "If you see it in that light," he at last replied, "you are, of course, justified in being furiously angry at what I have done. It seems I have in effect mocked your parents loving self-sacrifice and trifled with your own rights and dignity as a person. And I do not deny the legitimacy of that perspective. But I will ask you – no, I will beg of you, Harry – to consider that these actions may bear another interpretation when seen from another perspective. I made a desperate bargain for a desperate situation; I offered to a pair of fools the reward that fools prize above all others; and I implicitly sanctioned their abusive bigotry towards one who was always going to defy it, and throw it off." And once again, Harry felt torn between a feeling of justified resentment at the wrongs his mentor had done to him and one of warm satisfaction at the affection and pride in the Headmaster's looks and voice.

"Professor, is this a replacement for the blood protection?"

"In some measure it is," Dumbledore replied, "though the protection is not as strong, and the two are not magically compatible, so you could never have enjoyed both at the same time."

"Then was this always the plan, that the _comes_ ritual would be performed when I came of age?"

"I must confess, Harry, that we were in the process of attempting to negotiate with the Dursleys for an additional year or years, naturally at an additional price–"

"I wouldn't have done it, sir, even if I hadn't learned about what really happened, in the fire."

"I would have attempted to persuade you that it only required a token presence each year–"

"Even then."

The two kept silent for a little while.

"Speaking of what happened, in the fire," Harry resumed, "I still haven't said – thank you, Professor. You saved my life."

"It was the very least I could do, Harry," Dumbledore replied, with a regretful smile. "Just as attempting to help bring you into a genuine family, at this late date, seems a lamentably minimal response."

"Well," Harry responded with a bit of a smirk, "at least I made you sweat for it, Professor."

"That you did, Harry, with your sudden and dramatic exit. Now, on that topic, the Order is quite willing to compensate you in part for that payment you made to the Dursleys."

"No sir. Absolutely not."

"It was certainly never our intention to deprive you both of a normal childhood _and_ of your parents' financial legacy–"

"I really don't want to talk about this, Professor."

"It is money we were prepared to release tomorrow in any case."

"What category was it, in your budget, sir? Weapons security?"

"Harry..."

"I'm sorry, sir. But no. Use the money for, whatever the Order needs to fight Voldemort. I won't take it."

Dumbledore sighed. "Your stubbornness – wedded so closely to your rashness, Harry – does still disappoint and distress me."

Harry took some time to think about his response to this.

"Professor, I really am sorry to cause you distress, and I hope I do as little of that as possible. But," Harry continued, "I can't say the same about worrying whether what I do causes you disappointment. That just isn't something... something I feel I have to live up to anymore." He paused a moment and added, with a bit of a grin, "And I hope that my saying this hasn't distressed you too much, sir."

But Professor Dumbledore seemed to accept this with surprising equanimity. His only response was to return the smile and say, "Then Harry, if you have no further questions, let me offer you my early congratulations on your coming of age."

_**July 31, 1997**_

Harry Potter awoke the next morning from pleasant dreams and found he had been transformed into a giant canary. Camera flashes and birthday congratulations from Ron, Fred, George, Hermione and Ginny went off all around him, and he squawked his acknowledgments as best he could. Harry was soon rehumanized, and the group made their way down to the breakfast table where Molly and Arthur offered the usual hugs, words of wisdom and pancakes. Around them, the Burrow was already full of spell casting and ward reinforcing supervised by the Order of the Phoenix's security advisor, their DADA instructor of last year, Major-General Montgomery Gordon MacGregor (quickly nicknamed 'MG3'). Harry recalled his first encounter with the military wizard:

"_Now I'm what you would call a Muggle-Born," _MacGregor had said in introducing himself to the class,_ "and the first-born male MacGregor has served in the British Armed Forces for more than two hundred years now, since the Act of Union. So even when we found I was a wizard, I continued the tradition, which is how I now find myself serving both the Wizenmagot and the Queen. Yes, you have a question, Miss... Lovegood."_

"_Sir, have you met the Queen?" Luna asked._

"_Most certainly, lass, on several occasions."_

"_Is she as beautiful as they say?"_

_The general stared at the blonde Ravenclaw, plainly deliberating whether the question was a joke or trap. "I would say, she remains a handsome woman, considering her age," he finally got out. "But her Majesty's appearance is neither here or there..."_

"_Excuse me, Professor, but just one more question, please: can she fly?"_

_Major General MacGregor exploded into an all-out, four-star military berating of Miss Lovegood (at the end of which MG3 had turned quite purple, while Luna remained blonde) for possessing either the unmitigated gall to imagine herself in a position to take the mickey out of a superior, or the unprecedented combination of practiced ignorance and natural stupidity needed to believe that wings were part of the inheritance of the Windsor family._

"_Oh, dear," Luna responded, "you were talking about Queen Elizabeth. I'm sorry, Professor, I assumed you were referring to the Fairy Queen."_

Despite this unpromising beginning, Sixth-Year DADA had been in many ways the most productive class Harry ever took. MacGregor treated them to a military training regimen, teaching teamwork, maneuvers, tactics and strategy: anything which might give the students an advantage over the Death Eaters in genuine combat. Ron's chess skills proved highly adaptable to the larger battlefield, and Dumbledore's Army became something more than a flippant phrase.

Now MacGregor paused fromgiving instructions to Aurors and approached Harry's group. "Captain Potter, Lieutenant R Weasley, Lieutenant Granger, Lieutenant G Weasley," he nodded to each member of the quartet, and accepted their salutes. "Let us get to the heart of the matter. Security is already excellent, but 'excellent' is not always enough. We must assume the enemy knows that Captain Potter is here, reasonably assumes that some celebration is likely on his birthday, and may reasonably suspect that any such celebration would be likely to draw any number of high-priority targets in addition to Captain Potter himself. Lieutenant R Weasley, what is your analysis?"

Ron immediately answered, "Sir, if the enemy is thinking straight, they would have to assume that those high-priority targets are also highly skilled witches and wizards – which they are, after all – so I think the, ummm, the fear-factor would more than balance out the temptation factor." Ron paused a moment. "Unless," he continued, "they were really prepared to throw everything they had into it, to make this the one decisive battle. But that really isn't the way they operate, is it?"

"I requested _your_ analysis, Weasley, not to have you request mine."

"Sorry, sir. No, I would not expect them to launch such an attack."

"Very good, Weasley," the general said. "I agree with your assessment. However, we do need to take precautions in case we are both mistaken in our assumptions, and that's what I'll be getting back to now. So, ladies, gentlemen, carry on. And Harry–"

"Yes, sir?"

"Happy birthday, lad, and let's hope we can squeeze out at least a few more."

"Err, thank you, sir?" Harry answered.

"We're all sort of counting on it," Ginny added.

MacGregor returned to his casting and supervising.

"Well," Ginny said. "I think we can leave the security to the general and company, and take the party into our own hands. If Lieutenant R Weasley deems it strategically prudent, of course."

"Sod off, Lieutenant Gee-Wee."

----------

It was some time after noon, after the birthday cake and songs shared by Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, and the quartet was now sitting by the pond, waiting to be called in for the adoption ceremony. Participants would be arriving by portkey and Floo indoors.

"Now have you got your wish ready?" Ron asked.

Harry considered; during the years he had believed in wishes his birthday wish had been some variant on being free of the Dursleys, and that was now accomplished. "I guess 'World Peace' is always good," he muttered–

"No, don't _say_ it, for God's sake," Ron shouted in exasperation, "that'll break the spell!" He urged his friend to think carefully, since it was well-known that a birthday wish given during an adoption ceremony was one of the most powerful of magical combinations. Hermione tried to insist that this was a silly superstition, that wishing couldn't bring tangible results in the first place, that even if it could, there was no reason that a _reference_ to some event should act to nullify that event _in itself_, and she backed this up with an explanation of the "use-mention" distinction. Ron was having none of it, and at last felt compelled to bring out his trump card:

"Hermione, you don't really believe in magic."

Hermione denied this indignantly, of course, asking, "what do you think I've been doing with a wand for the last six years, then?" but Harry felt there was something in what Ron was saying. He recalled what his mother and father had said to him about a magician's power coming from his belief and imagination, and he thought of the power of magical oaths; perhaps there was an implicit bargain here, one which did need the petitioner's silence to complete the sacred circuit.

Ron and Hermione continued arguing, though, and did not even notice when Harry turned towards Ginny and asked for her thoughts on the topic. "I'll go with your advice," he assured her.

"I don't know if it's a hard magical law or anything," Ginny answered, "but I'd say, maybe there is some power that comes from _not_ making a show of your wishes."

----------

"Is this supposed to be like a wedding," Harry asked some time later, "where it's bad luck to see your – mates – before the service?"

"No, nothing like that," Ron replied. "We just don't want too many targets in the same place for too long."

"That makes it sound like you're expecting a crowd."

"What do _you_ expect, Harry?" asked Hermione. "Who do you think would want to be part of this?"

Harry had been considering this for a while. "there's you three; there's," (nodding at Ron and Ginny) "your mum and dad – they wouldn't let their home be used for this if they didn't feel, you know... I think Neville and Luna, after what we've all been through together... and I would guess Hagrid. So I count eight. Could be more. Look, I'm not saying, 'nobody wants me, boo hoo,' I know there are lots more people who are friendly, but I don't expect people to commit themselves to my future."

"Yeah, yeah, boo hoo. We'll see how far off you are in a moment," Ron said. And it was soon after that Harry was called in to the magically-expanded living room, there to meet all the witches and wizards who had asked to become his magical family.

As Harry had predicted, there were Molly and Arthur, Neville and Luna, and Hagrid. There also were Fred and George and Charley and Bill. There also were almost all the founding members of Dumbledore's Army: Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Seamus Finnegan, Parvati Patil, and Dean Thomas of Gryffindor; Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan of Hufflepuff; Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil of Ravenclaw. And those who had since left Hogwarts, like the three Gryffindor Chasers, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, and the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang. And a dozen of those who had joined last year under Harry's open captaincy, including the only two Slytherins in the group, Jack and Eileen Belford. The Triwizard competitors, Victor Krum and Fleur Delacour. The older comrades, members of the Order of the Phoenix: Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Amos Diggory, Professor McGonnagal. They were chatting among themselves, and hadn't yet noticed Harry's entrance.

"Harry, a word with you, please."

The 17-year-old wizard came out of his stupefied condition to find Professor Dumbledore at his elbow, leading him towards an isolated corner.

"Professor, are you here to, take part–"

"No, I will only be presiding, in my capacity as head of the Wizenmagot."

To Harry's surprise, he found that this news was causing his chest to deflate and his eyes to swell with disappointment. It suddenly seemed impossible that he could be entering into a relationship of this significance and leaving Dumbledore behind. For a moment he felt it as a blow to his pride that he should feel so much at the thought of the old man's rejection, but he quickly pushed those feelingsdown.

"Sir, I hope you don't think that I wouldn't want you to stand with all the others. You've meant as much to me as anybody here, more than most, and I know we've fought, but... family does that."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, and his gaze held no trace of twinkling comedy now.

"Thank you, Harry. I will always remember that you invited me, and as far as it is at all possible, I will try to act towards you as if I had taken these oaths today. But there is one I cannot take in good conscience."

"You mean the second oath, sir?"

"Yes. As head of the Order – as the one with responsibility for guiding our side's course in this war – I cannot swear that I will never make use of any of the people I command, in a way that violates the spirit of family bonds."

"I understand, Professor."

"Harry–I am a very old man and one might think I have experienced at some time every emotion known to man. But I am sure I have never felt this mix of pride and regret."

And it came to Harry with an absurd sense of revelation that, deprived of his singular twinkle in his eyes, _Dumbledore really was a very old man._

Dumbledore explained that Harry now had the opportunity to talk with any of the witches or wizards who had come, and make the final decision whether he wished them to take part in the adoption ritual – whether, to put it bluntly, he wanted to be part of a family which included them. He had no qualms about accepting any of the witches or wizards as "bonded comrades," but there were two he particularly wanted to talk to: Colin Creevey and Cho Chang.

The talk with Colin began awkwardly.

"Is this where you try to find out if I really belong with the rest of your friends?" Colin asked. "Because I would understand, I guess."

"No! That's not why I wanted to talk to you, I just wanted to say–"

He didn't want to apologize for failing to save Dennis, since he still didn't know how he could have. What he really wanted to know was why Colin had apparently changed his mind and now saw Harry as a mate once more instead of a 'gutless phony', which was one of the many things Colin had called him last year while Dennis was being held captive and Harry was "invited" by his captors to come to his rescue. Asking that question bluntly, however, might sound too much like saying, "So, you've figured out how wrong you were, have you..." So Harry just settled for the simplest true thing he could say.

"I'm glad you came, Colin. It's good to have you in."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad I came too. And I guess I owe you some explanation, even if you aren't asking for it. You were the one I looked up to for years, Harry, since the time I came to Hogwarts. And you always seemed to... have a way. To pull things out. And then when you didn't, for Dennis–"

Colin tried to gather himself. Harry debated whether to put an arm on his shoulder or whether that would be rejected as presumptuous, and the moment passed.

"–I guess I went crazy, had to get revenge on you for not being what I thought. I don't know if you understand that feeling."

"Oh yes," Harry laughed. "That's one feeling I definitely understand..."

The talk with Cho turned out to be less stressful. "So, Hermione and Ron?" were the first words out of her mouth. "That girl definitely wrong-footed me."

"Hey, I could have gotten a signed statement from anybody in Gryffindor that that's how things were heading." Harry shook a finger at Cho and the two chuckled.

"Harry, if this is about whether I've still got a grudge about the breakup, I don't. I think a year is enough time to put things in perspective. I'm still sort of fond of you, and I still owe you. For one thing you were a good teacher, which is a hard thing for a senior Ravenclaw to admit about a junior Gryffindor."

"Well... thanks."

"And I get to go into the history books as the first girl Harry Potter kissed."

"How do you know it was my first, was it that bad?"

"Yeah, good teacher lousy kisser. But I'm sure you've improved."

"Well, to be honest... as of now you're both the first and last."

"No! Well, get working on it! Oh, hell, I'll give you another half of one–" and she swiped at the right corner of his mouth, leaving a bit of lipstick behind. Cho turned to leave then stopped and turned back with a mischievous grin. Before Harry could respond she had raised her wand, incanted "_Cattus Pattasatus_" and made her exit. _Well_, thought Harry,_ whatever that was, it can't be too bad, or she wouldn't... unless..._ But he shrugged off the paranoid thoughts and wiped with his handkerchief to get the lipstick off.

When he rejoined Ron, Hermione and Ginny, he found them all (especially Ginny) staring at the right side of his face.

"What? What's on my face?"

"What do you think is on your face, Harry?" asked Ginny somewhat briskly.

"I don't know, unless I didn't... err–"

"Didn't what?" Ginny asked.

"Look, she kissed me on the cheek, and maybe I didn't wipe it all off–it was nothing!"

"Kissed you seven times, and it was nothing?" Ron followed up.

"_Seven_? What are you–"

"Look in the mirror, see for yourself."

Harry looked and saw seven imprints all over the right side of his face. He started instinctively to wipe at them then stopped and swore.

"Hermione," he asked, "do you know a charm called _Cattus Pattasatus_?"

Hermione thought for a moment and then started to laugh. "It's a charm that makes whatever you're trying to wipe away spread and duplicate itself. Try wiping again."

Harry did, and gathered from the other three's laughter that the charm was still active. The mirror confirmed it: lipstick now covered both sides of his face.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Hermione pronounced. "I guess we have to acquit you this time."

Now came the time for the adoption ritual. Professor Dumbledore asked all those present to raise their wands and gather facing Harry, who marveled at this vast wave coming towards him. The thought occurred to him, _come to wash away the cupboard days._ Dumbledore was speaking now, of the sacredness of the bond about to be created, and instructed the gathering:

"Each of you will now swear to Harry James Potter, and Harry James Potter will now swear to each of you:

"That whatever you give or receive from one another will be given and accepted freely, without calculation of future debts or obligations from this gift..."

Dozens of voices responded, "_We swear_."

"That you shall never use one another as tools for some aim of yours, no matter how noble or necessary you think that aim to be..."

"_We swear._" Harry was irresistibly reminded of his conversation with Dumbledore, and a moment's sadness went through him.

"That you shall always place the happiness of your comrade above your own comfort..."

"_We swear._" Harry had at first thought this, and the final oath, to be almost disappointingly modest...

"And that you shall never allow one another to slip out of sight and out of mind."

"_We swear_."

...but the obligation implied in that _always_ and _never_, to so many people, was an almost awful thing to think about. And to think that so many had made such a pledge to him...

"These pledges having been completed, I declare this adoption magically binding. _Comes contectum._" The wands all now glowed a deep green. ("Green is the color of comradeship," Hermione explained. "It's also the color of Harry's eyes," Ginny noted.)

Harry was overwhelmed. Here were the people he had embarrassed himself in front of, people he had exasperated, people he had let down... people for whom he was a reminder of things which wanted no reminding. Now they were asking for the chance to take part in what they all knew would be not only a demanding relationship, but a potential deadly one. At that moment he had no difficulty thinking of what his 'birthday wish' should be:

_Let me always remember this, what happened today, as clearly as if it were happening again before me._

And as the joyful grin split Harry's face, and the murmurs of congratulation began to break into a chorus of cheers, the Burrow's roof cracked open and blocks started falling on the participants. Quick spellwork from the Auror guard kept them from falling on the crowd, but then the Death Eaters came flying down on their brooms through the holes and the battle began in earnest. Harry found he could not even reach for his own wand at first, for the comrades closest to him – Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Lupin, Tonks – were all pressing their own bodies too tightly around his, Tonks and Lupin even trying to force him to the ground so they could cover him.

"No!" Harry shouted at them, "You aren't my parents, I still fight my own battles, I'm of age–" but he couldn't even tell if his words had reached, the sheer number of incantations flying all around created too thick a curtain of sound. From what Harry could see in those occasional glimpses from when he managed to get upright, the Death Eaters were forcing themselves in one at a time through every crack and being Stupefied down every time. But the cracks were getting wider and wider until the entire roof was shredded to nothing and Voldemort's servants could pour in _en masse. _Still (as Ron had predicted) with the cream of the Aurors present, and Dumbledore himself, it seemed a futile effort; there were now dozens of DE stunned and bound, and no spell had gotten within ten yards of Harry.

Still they kept coming, and the only spell they seemed to be trying now was _Avada Kedavra_. Sometimes now they got three or four of the syllables out, and one got to five before being struck down. Harry finally threw Remus off him and tried to make room for himself to fight, but the mass of witches and wizards just molded themselves around him again, like in clips he'd seen from nature programs of soldier bees protecting their queen. _Your queen orders you to get the f off_, he almost shouted. Amid the shouts, the warnings, the curses, the countercurses, Harry heard a set of voices far off to his left, and shuddered. At least two Death Eaters had completed the killing curse, and two or three more had followed with a curse he didn't know: "_Remaneat Animus._"But some of the Order clearly did know it, for Harry could hear them exclaiming in outrage as if it were darker than the Unforgivable, and the thought made Harry sick. He was too encased in humanity to be able to see what was happening, but knew that for that very reason there was no chance whatsoever of the curses reaching him. They could scarcely avoid hitting somebody, though; somebody was going to die again as "collateral damage" from an attack on him –

"Retreat, retreat_ –_ _Mission accomplished_! Retreat!" There was a chorus of apparating _pop_s, and a deadly silence. _Mission accom– am I –?_ Harry pinched himself; still there, not a ghost.

The execrations began again from those in the know about _Remaneat Animus_. Aurors did their work, restoring the broken wards, checking to be sure the retreat wasn't a trap. People began to move away, and Harry could finally see something of the scene around him. What drew his eye first were two gray figures floating off to his left, crying and embracing each other – the ghosts of Jack and Eileen Belford, their bodies lying beneath.

"It seems they were the target all the while," said General MacGregor. "A message to all Slytherin families: don't think of defecting."

"But General, the losses – we must have captured thirty, forty of them" Ron exclaimed.

"Cannon fodder, low-level inductees. It's a bad sign, lad. The enemy either has more men to spare than we thought, or they think they'll be able to spring this bunch somehow."

"Sir, what was that curse?" Hermione asked in a whisper, not sure whether the Belfords could hear.

"_Remaneat Animus_: 'let the spirit remain.' It forces the victim to continue his existence as a ghost, and forces that ghost to stay and haunt the place where it was killed. A foul, foul thing. It's aimed at your family also, Lieu– Ron, Ginny; to taunt you of the consequences of standing against them, and opening the house to Harry."

Harry felt a jolt go through him on hearing his name. He also found that the group had been making their way in a kind of sleepwalking shuffle towards the Belfords, and were now close enough to hear and see Arthur and Molly, who were speaking to the murdered siblings.

"I don't know how long it will be, dears, until you are released," Molly was saying, "But until that day, you are a part of this house. I want everybody else in this family–" and she waved her children together. Harry saw Bill, Charlie, Fred and George join Ron and Ginny in a line of Weasleys... "Harry?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Come on, dear, in the line with you. All of us promise: we're all family, either by blood, or related through Harry, and you can consider yourself adopted. We will make this as much of a home as we can for you. Arthur and I will give you a tour when we get a chance, you can decide then which rooms you would prefer."

Mrs. Weasley's hospitality seemed to have shocked Jack and Eileen out of their sobs for a moment, but even as they spoke their "thank yous," their voices were so close to pure howls the words were almost incomprehensible. The brother and sister clapped their hands over their mouths in surprise, obviously having no idea that their ghost voices would sound like that. Harry wondered for a moment how long it had taken Sir Nicholas and the rest to sound as human-like as they did. In the meanwhile, Molly was assuring the Belfords they were welcome.

Harry forced himself to look at his friends and DA protégés, the first members of his new family to be lost but certainly not the last. He knew he couldn't offer anything like the parental comforting of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but felt he had to say something to them, and he noticed that the room full of witches and wizards, old mentors and new brothers and sisters, seemed to have stopped to look at him and await his words.

"I promise you guys... there's going to come a time in this war, when you're going to make the difference. I don't know if it'll be in person, or because we remembered you and what they did to you, but I swear it will come."

A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, and then Harry heard a voice – he thought it was Ernie MacMillan's – shouting "_comes contectum: _ we're still bonded!" The call was echoed through the Burrow by every witch and wizard: "comrades still!" And as the shouts continued, Harry thought about his pledge, and wondered what possessed him to make it and how he could fulfill it, but felt an odd certainty that he would.

The day finally ended, and Harry fell into an exhausted sleep in his bed next to Ron's. Sometime in the early morning he sprang awake, with the phrase, "_Because we remembered you_," still ringing. He wondered... As if searching for a memory to invoke his patronus, Harry called upon the birthday wish of just hours ago and found the events of the day standing before him again: the solemn taking of oaths; the feeling of joy at their completion; _and_ the crumbling roof, the panic and frustration and the crush of protection, the sight of his friends, dead and forced into spiritual captivity.

_The wish worked, _Harry thought bleakly. _I'll remember it all, always: _"_as clearly as if they were really happening._"


	4. Alone

_September 1, 1997_

Molly looked over her girls and boys as they stood on Platform 9 3/4. "Your last time taking this trip together," she sighed.

"Your fifth time making this speech," Ron muttered, but not low enough. Harry jumped in hastily. "Who knows, Mrs. Weasley," he said, "maybe we'll come back next year to guard Ginny for her last ride."

"Thanks for the thought, Harry," Ginny responded, "but first, I don't think you can speak for Ron and Hermione, and second, I don't need a guard--"

"Ginny, stop arguing with your brother," Molly said, deadpan.

"God, Mom, don't SAY that!" cried Ron, looking stricken to the core.

"What is it, Ron, aren't they siblings by adoption? do you know any special reason why I shouldn't mention that?" As she said this she looked not at Ron but at Harry, who surprised himself a little by looking at Mrs. Weasley without blushing or furtive shifting of eyes. He even ventured to project a _well, maybe,_ at her with a bit of a shrug and a half-Dumbledore twinkle of the eyes. Molly broke into a bit of a smile at this.

"Mom, stop interrogating," said Ginny. Molly did not pursue the topic, though she did reserve a mother's meddling rights for the future.

"Nothing in the world," Mrs. Weasley turned serious, "is going to keep me from seeing you on Graduation Day. Harry, Hermione, you weren't brought up as wizard or witch, but that is a very beautiful ceremony. The entire graduating class joins in singing--"

"We've seen it, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said. "We all went to be there for Katie Bell and some other 7th-years we knew. It was very lovely."

"Oh, isn't it, dear. And you'll be taking part in a tradition that's been carried on since the first class graduated Hogwarts. Even though I was brought up in a pureblood family, that was when I really first felt myself a true part of our world, when I sang with the rest on Graduation Day."

Harry remembered back to that ceremony; after the events of sixth year he had not been in the best of moods to appreciate a musical tribute to the glories of the wizarding world. Even now, when he thought of the song's lyrics, Harry found himself put off by their pomposity: the eternity of magic, the blessing of being part of this world, the references to "Her gifts" and "Her lore" the call to "take up the calling devout." He wondered if he'd be able to deliver these words in nine months.

Hermione was talking to Molly about wizarding traditions when the latter suddenly interrupted to say she needed to be getting back to the Burrow, that she had some neglected business to take care of. Mrs. Weasley was reaching out with her arms as if to give them all a hug goodbye, and then she was gone, Disapparated. It seemed to Harry she was almost falling backwards and reaching out for help, wanting to be pulled back. He said nothing of this to Ron, Hermione and Ginny, but they looked a bit unsettled anyway by the odd departure.

Moments later he saw another two parents pull back from their children and vanish. Then another pair.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "It isn't close to departure time yet, why's everybody in a hurry to leave?" As he spoke, another three sets of parents popped away, and worried murmuring was starting to spread. Harry could see some of the younger students who had been left behind starting to run around in a daze, looking either for their parents or for someone to assure them.

"We've got to find somebody from the Order," Hermione said. The quartet scanned the platform for some face they could recognize. They saw Shacklebolt and dashed up the platform towards him. When they were within a couple of meters the Auror declared, "Sorry, all: Order business just came up," and vanished. The quartet turned around and saw Tonks. They went running back down the platform towards her, and saw her wave and disappear.

Shouts and wails were starting to fill the air along with the 'pops' of Disapparation, but Ginny made out a familiar voice in the chaos and alerted the rest; Neville was shouting something to his grandmother, and being shouted at right back. The group started running again. Harry's legs were already starting to quiver with tension fatigue.

"Gran, there's nothing on the stove! We didn't cook this morning!" Neville was holding on to his grandmother's elbow.

"Neville, let me go! You're a seventh-year now, do you still need me to hold your hand to get on the train?"

At this, Neville's face went pale and he let his grandmother's arm drop. An instant later she was gone too, just as the quartet arrived. By now there were scarcely any adults left on the platform and some of the first-years were beginning to cry in earnest.

"I couldn't just... keep hanging on to her. You know it wasn't--"

"It's alright, Neville," Hermione said. "Do you know where Luna is?"

"She was going to get here about 10:30 -- you don't think anything's happened?

"No no, but we could use her now."

"Harry--" Ron shook his friend's shoulder. "We've got to decide what we're going to do."

Harry was jolted back to attention. _We? _He looked around again. There was not a single adult, just panicked students. Some of them had spotted Harry and company and were starting to gravitate that way.

"This is one of those situations," Ron continued, "one of the things we were training for."

"We've got procedures," Hermione added. "Let's stick to them."

_Procedures. Right. _Harry took a deep breath, gathered looks of encouragement from his friends, and cast the Sonorus on himself.

"Defense Association! All members of the Defense Association! Come here, come round!"

The gathering of the DA had at least the effect of calming some of the panic on the platform, as the younger students saw and heard that someone was taking charge. Within the circle, theories were proposed and suggestions made, but none won consensus approval. There certainly seemed to be some kind of "Go Home!" spell in operation, and some of the students confessed to feeling it grow on them themselves. It could be part of a Voldemort plot, or it could be...

"Bantings," Luna said confidently (she had just arrived). "They're attracted to transportation hubs, they cause homesickness."

A surprising number of DA members nodded at this. _They must have a case of the Bantings themselves_, Harry thought. For himself, he felt nothing of this homesickness effect; he just wanted very much to get on the train and get to Hogwarts. When Harry said this, several DA members, including Ron, Ginny and Hermione, began to protest. With a little reluctance, Captain Potter pulled rank for the first time.

"We're going to Hogwarts. That's my, that's, that's an order." Harry practically whispered the last word, and some voices of dissent started up again, but Harry cut them off. "Look, there are two possibilities; if this is some fluke thing and everything is really OK, then we go to Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore will explain it all, no harm done, school starts on time. Or else -- something is really wrong, and that means we have to keep together." Harry looked at the students around him, not only the DA but all the students of Hogwarts, to see if he was getting through, and -- he looked again and his stomach turned over. It wasn't all the students of Hogwarts. _How did we miss it? _

"I think we can settle the Voldemort vs. Bantings questions now," Harry said. "Are there any students from Slytherin here?"

For a couple of seconds there was no sound except for the rustling of school uniforms, as dozens of students turned around to search for the invisible Slytherins. Then a mix of curses and moans filled the air. Harry called the crowd to order.

"So, we know. This is an attack. What we need to do is get ourselves in the best position to defend ourselves, and to fight back. Does anybody know any place better than Hogwarts for that?"

"What if they've already taken it?" someone asked from the crowd.

"They haven't," Harry answered with certainty. "They couldn't. They just... couldn't." Harry gathered himself. "It would be the last place they could take, it's too well warded. And that would make it the safest place for us. Not safe, there won't be anyplace safe now, but... saf_er_. For the younger students, the ones who can't fight. And for the fighters, it's a fortress, that's a huge advantage. We can't throw that away," he pleaded. "But we've got to get in, or else the wards start to fail, and then the Death Eaters can waltz in and set them for themselves."

Another question came from one of the second or third-years in the crowd: "Do you think Dumbledore and the other teachers are there?"

"Maybe," Harry replied. "Maybe they can't get word to us, and they're counting on us to make it there." _But probably not,_ he thought. _I think it's just going to be us -- alone. And it's going to end there. It will all end at Hogwarts. _There was a tingle of satisfaction at the thought, and Harry projected it with his next order:

"Now, everybody on the train."

----------

DA and prefects organized the students, who now seemed eager to be led. It was 10:40. All was proceeding smoothly until Hermione approached. "Harry," she whispered, obviously fighting back panic, "We haven't thought about the engineer." The six DA officers looked at one another; none had any idea how to get the train to Hogwarts. They set out at a trot towards the engine car, expecting to find it empty, the engineer called home by an overwhelming sense of emergency. But the engineer was there, where he had always been, chatting with the Trolley Lady and calmly eating a sandwich.

"'lo folks, ready for the journey?" he asked the group.

"Umm, yeah," Harry answered. "We're all aboard, pretty much. You haven't felt any, any odd feelings, like wanting to go anywhere?"

"Funny you ask," the engineer replied. "I've been running this express for almost fifty years now, and I've never felt more eager to be standing at the throttle here than I do right now." The Trolley Lady echoed the sentiment.

"That's just... great to hear," Harry said with a relieved grin. "Listen, would you be able to hold the train till some things got sorted?"

The engineer looked querulously at the six students. "I suppose I could, if I had authorization. Are there any professors there?" The students shook their heads. "Anyone from the Ministry?" More headshakes. "Well, bloody -- who the hell _is _in charge here?"

"Umm... me." Captain Potter raised his hand.

It took some time for the story to be told, but the engineer was persuaded to wait for Harry's authorization. Meanwhile, Hermione and the rest of the Muggle-borns dashed back into King's Cross Station to find payphones and call their parents. The plan in place called for them to portkey to the Ministry in case of an emergency, and this certainly seemed to qualify. A few minutes after eleven, the Muggleborns started coming back. Harry stopped Dean and Justin.

"Did you get through?"

Both nodded. "There's a phone-tree," Dean said. "Everybody should be covered, even the ones we couldn't get right away."

" 'Should' doesn't give much comfort now, does it?" Justin asked. "_If_ everybody gets the message, and _if _the portkeys all work, and _if_ the Ministry is still safe..."

There was nothing to be said about that.

At this point Harry noticed that each was carrying a bag. "You went shopping?" he asked incredulously. "What--" "Don't blame us, mate," Dean responded. "Hermione said to buy every radio we saw." Each bag was indeed filled with pocket-sized radios and maybe a hundred batteries. "Here she comes now," Justin pointed.

Harry trotted towards Hermione, who was fumbling with her Walkman, trying to insert batteries with shaking hands.

"Here, let me try." Harry managed to get the radio started. As he expected, there was nothing to be heard but static. "Hermione?"

"We don't hear anything because the magic in the wards intereferes with the electricity. So, we take all the radios to Hogwarts, leave one at a time running all day. When it stops playing static and starts playing news or music, that tells us the wards are failing. It's an early-alert system."

Harry, Dean and Justin (as well as Ron and Ginny, who had come back to check on Hermione) stared in awe at the bushy-haired girl. "Two of my grandparents worked at Bletchley Park," she explained. "They told us how much of an advantage it was to know when the German bombers were coming, when they _weren't _coming really, so the RAF pilots could get enough rest in between."

"Hermione, I'm sure I'm being stupid again," Ron said, "but... why would the Muggles put their war experts to work in parks?"

Luna came running back to the group. "Everybody's on board now except the DA," she announced. "Neville is calming the first-years. He's very good with children," Luna concluded, with a fond glance back towards the train.

It was about a quarter past eleven now. So far as Harry could see, there was nothing more to be done here, and the urge to get back to Hogwarts where he belonged was getting stronger. He called out the best flyers -- Ron, Ginny, Dean, Natalie, Demelza, Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Ambrose Pritchard, Terry Boot, Su Li and Rose Zeller. "We're going to be flying guard above the train as it goes," he instructed. "Ron?" Ron considered a moment. "Three groups of four," he ordered. "Group One at the front, Group Two at the rear, Group Three on the train. One flyer in each group rides point, and when they get tired they drop back and let the next one in line fight the wind. No, never mind 'when they get tired,' make it every... five minutes. After an hour, group one takes a rest, group two takes front, group three takes rear. Keep rotating each hour."

"Alright," Harry said. "Everybody else in. Inside the train, Hermione, you're in charge. You and Luna and Neville -- I don't know, look for sabotage? Sing the kids a lullabye? I don't--" "We'll handle it, Harry," Hermione assured him. Then she took him aside and said (lowering her voice so as not to be overheard) "I talked to your Aunt."

He closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth. He didn't want to think about them, and when he did think about them he thought talking to them would do no good...

"Harry..."

The Captain of the Hogwarts Defence tried to compose himself. "Thanks, Hermione. That was really good of you. They didn't listen did they?"

"I don't know. At least they know where their portkeys are."

Harry gave a shrug and thanked his friend once more, then turned back to the rest of the Defense Association. "Time to be off." And so, twenty minutes late, the Hogwarts Express began carrying its 229 passengers to their destination.

-----------

Harry, Ginny, Su Li and Terry fell into a rhythm, like in team pursuit cycling. For the first two or three minutes the wind in his face at sixty miles per hour felt stimulating, and the beauty of the countryside made the war seem remote. Then it became harder and harder for his thin frame to hold up under the battering, and he could feel himself slipping back, even though most of the forward motion was being supplied by the train's own momentum. He was grateful to hear the whistle blast, signaling the five minutes were up and it was time to let somebody else take the lead. From the rear he could keep flying with relative ease and keep scanning for Death Eaters. Both Ginny and Su were fighting to keep up and keep on a straight course -- they were lighter than him and Terry, after all -- but they kept flying. The rotation went on, and the third time Harry returned to the back, he realized he wasn't needed as a windbreaker so he could explore a bit. (He also realized that Ginny had arranged the group order -- knowingly or not -- so that she got a good look at Harry's rear for three shifts, while he was stuck staring at Terry's.) First he checked in with the group at the rear, who were -- he realized -- having the difficult task of flying seated backwards so they kept facing to the back of the train. After exchanging smiles and shoulder-bumps with Ron, Demelza, Susan and Ambrose (without the aid of charms, they wouldn't be able to make themselves heard against the wind), he tried to release some tension with a few loops around the train, then headed straight up, finally leveling off about fifty meters above the train. Harry tried to imagine that from this height, Hogwarts was just past the horizon, waiting to rise up and greet them.

The whistle blew twice; it was time to come in for a break. Hot tea was good for the cold. Chocolate was always good. Sitting next to Ginny was...

_Things just got complicated again._

There were no attacks on the way; nor when the train pulled in to the station, nor when the Thestral-led carriages took those without brooms to the gates of Hogwarts. But Hagrid was nowhere to be seen calling for the first years, nor McGonnagal leading them to the sorting hat, nor Dumbledore inviting them to sit and eat. The first-years, who had been herded inside the gates first while the DA stood guard, milled about, some crying and some pale with shock. The Great Hall was not empty, though; there to meet the rush of students were three ghosts, one healer, and one house-elf. Dobby reached Harry first, sobbing with relief that he had made it, Madame Pomfrey tried frantically to discern which of the students were crying from injury and which needed attention, and Sir Nicholas, the Fat Friar and the Grey Lady hovered over the scene.

Harry gathered from Dobby's tearful recitation that the Hogwarts elves were close to staging a walkout in protest at the lack of impositions they were living under. _What can I order them-- _he felt another brain freeze coming on, and was about to tell Dobby their orders were to run around the castle three times when Luna offered the more helpful suggestion that the students could use some food. Dobby went off gratefully, and soon the tables were full. But the students sat to eat in a pall of silence which was utterly unlike any feast Harry had ever attended, a silence which shocked his system more than any of the events of the day. For the first time, Harry could feel the fear of impending loss and destruction beginning to overcome him. He stared in frustration at the frightened faces, and when one of the students caught him looking she blanched and buried her face in her hands as if Harry were the enemy threat to be escaped... He had to force himself to remember the methods he had learned from Professor Bandhit to keep his personal hyenas at bay.

The DA officers left the rest of the students to their meal, except for Neville; he continued to circulate among the younger students, speaking calmly to them and placing his arms around shoulders wherever he went. The other five sought information from Madame Pomfrey and the ghosts. The Healer only knew that she had arrived as scheduled, and all seemed normal; just yesterday Dumbledore had assured her that he, McGonnagal, Snape, MacGregor and the other Order members would be back from their meeting well in time for the arrival of the Express. Then she had walked out of the Hospital wing at about noon to find herself alone.

There was nobody left to consult but the ghosts. No, they didn't know what had happened. Yes, so far as they knew, Hogwarts was still well-warded, and no Death Eaters had gotten near them. The Bloody Baron's location was unknown. He may have gone to be with the Slytherin students, wherever they were...

"You can leave Hogwarts, then?" asked Ginny.

"We strongly prefer to stay here" replied the Friar.

"But, if you needed to, if you were needed..." Ginny pressed.

"We _strongly_ prefer to stay here" said the Grey Lady.

Harry turned to the Gryffindor ghost. "Sir Nicholas, you know where Order headquarters is--"

"_No_" -- the Grey Lady and the Friar had spoken simultaneously. Sir Nicholas looked down sheepishly.

"I was talking to Nick," Harry shot back angrily. "Why are you speaking for him?"

"Whether Sir Nicholas knows the location or not," the Grey Lady answered, "he cannot be used as a messenger for one side of a war among the living."

"It violates the laws of our existence," the Friar explained. "We can observe, we can counsel, but we cannot take any overt action which affects the destiny of the living world."

"I'm afraid that's true, Harry," acknowledged Sir Nicholas "It is for you, the living, to devote yourself to your cause."

"We are going to bloody well devote ourselves," Ron said, "and some of us aren't going to make it through. You're just going to hover above us and take notes?"

"There are rules we live under, Young Weasley" said Nick.

"That's not an answer!" Ron replied. "Look, are you saying you _can't_, or are you saying you _won't_, because you're afraid of being punished if you're caught?"

"This isn't a case of some schoolboy getting detention because he was out after curfew" the Friar admonished. "This is a high, holy matter."

"But it really comes down to the same thing," Harry insisted. "If you say 'I won't do it because The Law Says,' you're just... if it's important enough, you do it, and you take the consequences. I thought that was part of what it meant to be a Gryffindor."

There was a long moment's silence. Sir Nicholas seemed about to break it, but never got a chance because the Great Hall was shaken by the magnified crash of drums. Students whom Neville had just managed to make calm enough to sit and eat now looked up in shock and started shaking themselves off their chairs. The six officers gathered in the center of the hall to take up defensive positions, and then the vocal section entered:

'_HOGWARTS STUDENTS... HOGWARTS STUDENTS! YOUR RIGHTFUL LORD... THE HEIR OF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN... HAS ASSUMED HIS PLACE AT THE HEAD OF THE WIZARDING WORLD... HE HAS ENDED ALL OPPOSITION--'_

"The F he has!" Ron screamed, and some of the defenders of Hogwarts came out of their stupor to cheer and whistle in approval. The thundering voice continued without any acknowledgment of the dissent.

"_...THE MINISTRY IS IN THE HANDS OF OUR LORD'S LOYAL WIZARDS..."_

Ron and Ginny blanched, as did many others who had family in the Ministry.

"_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IS DEAD..._"

There were shouts of "No!" and "You wish!" and some even sounded genuine.

"_... AND THE REST OF THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX HAS BEEN KILLED OR CAPTURED..._"

A few students tried to set up a chorus of "bulls, bulls...".

"_STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS, LISTEN TO THIS MESSAGE FROM YOUR RIGHTFUL LORD. YOUR LORD..."_

"_Not __our__ Lord... Not __our__ Lord..."_

"_...WISHES NO HARM TO YOU CHILDREN. YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR HOMES AND SEE YOUR MOTHERS AND FATHERS..."_

A number of 7th-years scoffed and jeered at the description of them as "children"; Ron conspicuously stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked on it while squawling like a baby overdue for a diaper change...

"_THESE ARE YOUR INSTRUCTIONS. YOU WILL LEAVE ALL WANDS BEHIND YOU AND WALK OUT THE MAIN ENTRANCE SINGLE FILE. HARRY POTTER, YOU WILL BE THE FIRST IN THE LINE."_

Two hundred heads and more swiveled towards Harry. A split-second later, many were calling out various expressions of solidarity. Harry did his best to smile and nod back at them, but his jaw and neck were getting tired...

"_HARRY POTTER: DO NOT TRY TO ESCAPE. DO NOT MAKE ALL OF HOGWARTS PAY THE PRICE FOR YOUR FOLLY AND ARROGANCE. OUR LORD'S ANGER WILL FALL UPON THEM ALL"_

...and once again, Harry felt himself almost crushed by a circle of friends _-- brothers, sisters, _he corrected himself -- shouting defiance at the invisible voices.

"_OUR LORD'S PATIENCE IS NOT TO BE TESTED. YOU HAVE ONE HOUR._"

_Dumbledore isn't dead, I know what a bunch of liars they are_, Harry thought. There were two hundred students who needed convincing, though, who would lose heart if they believed the lie, and the only one who could tell them for certain was a reluctant ghost. But even as Harry considered how to persuade Sir Nicholas, that spirit of the Renaissance seemed to be coming to the decision on his own. Nick floated down from the place where he was hovering with his two colleagues and began walking through the crowd towards Harry. The Grey Lady and the Friar hastily followed and began conversing and gesticulating towards Sir Nicholas. Nicholas stood and listened, then spoke a few words, pointed to the students and gave a shake of his wobbly head. The Friar and the Grey Lady redoubled their arguing. Nicholas shook his head a second time and hastily caught it before it slipped off. His two companions finally ceased their efforts and gave the Gryffindor ghost what seemed a farewell embrace. Sir Nicholas stepped forward.

"I'll go. I'll find the Headmaster, in this world or the next."

"We won't ever forget this, Sir Nicholas," Harry said.

"Thank you, thank you Nick," Ron added. "You're a prince."

"Just a humble knight, I'm afraid. But what I can do, I'll do." The Great Hall cheered, and Nicolas responded with a wave and a bow, then walked camly through the wall.

After a while, the drums and voices resumed their demand for surrender. Silencing charms cast by Anthony Goldstein and some other Ravenclaw Charms specialists proved ineffective, a fact noted with relish by the Death Eaters. _"OUR LORD'S VOICE __WILL__ BE HEARD" _they declared. It was the first alteration in their message, and it was unsettling for the defenders of Hogwarts to find that their attackers were somehow conscious of what spells they were casting. Harry didn't want to try his own hand at silencing; didn't want to risk a public failure at this point, in these circumstances.

So they waited, with the threats of the Death Eaters rolling on in the background. Ron and Ginny organized a shout-back, with some creative synchronized cursing to cap each of the messengers' lines. Hermione visibly winced at some of it, but the rest of the school seemed to find some measure of relief in this neatly choreographed flow of obscenity, and even Hermione's gasps and cringes became part of the show, a source of giggles from the younger students.

The ritual repeated. For the fourth time, the magnified voice of doom proclaimed "_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IS DEAD_"... and the next sound the student body heard was neither the liturgical response prepared by Ron and Ginny, nor the continuation of the message from "Our Lord," but a firm ringing cry from Sir Nicholas Mimsy-Porpington, who had entered with suspiciously precise dramatic timing and was now striding towards Harry in the center of the hall:

"A MESSAGE" Sir Nicholas said, and held up a parchment filled with graceful handwriting. Many of those near to Nick knew that writing, and started to clap and shout.

"FROM HEADMASTER..." and now the Hall exploded with cheers and applause. Few noticed that with each word, Nick's stride was getting slower, his movements stiffer. Only those nearest the ghost, like Harry, could see with astonishment and horror that his body was growing more opaque, starting with his legs, which were now almost the gray of granite.

"ALBUS..." and now it was clear that Nicholas's legs were turning to stone.

"DUMBLEDORE..." and now Nicholas was stone from his chest down to his legs. With his arms rapidly graying and stiffening, Nick made one last motion and placed the parchment into Harry's outstretched hand.

A hush now came over the Hall as the students looked on the stricken ghost. Before petrification became complete, Nicholas raised his head and cried out, "_GOD SAVE GOOD... QUEEN... BESS_!"

In that attitude, Sir Nicholas froze. His last arm movement had resulted (probably deliberately) in a very impressive composition, left arm tucked into his chest, right arm thrust up and out to the right, head lifted proudly, like a nobleman waving to his peers. In the days to come the students would place a pedestal beneath him on which was written:

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington

Lived 1547 - 1624

Died 1624 - 1997

? 1997 - ?

A True Gryffindor

But many things had to be done before that, the first being the reading of Dumbledore's letter. Harry recited:

"Dear students: reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." Cheers and laughter. "To all the Muggleborns now groaning at that cliche, I apologize, but an opportunity like this might not come again.

"I swear not to lie to you. Our situation is bad, but I have no difficulty sustaining hope. (It is a hard habit for me to break in any case.) Many members of the Order are now at Headquarters, alive and unharmed, but as of now unable to leave. We all entered under some psychological compulsion we did not recognize at the time, but which was clearly the result of a very powerful spell whose nature is still something of a mystery. I suspect the same to be true at the Ministry, that Aurors and others of Voldemort's opponents are in a kind of magical confinement. We are working to release ourselves, but do not know how long this will take or -- I must tell you truthfully -- if we can do it at all.

"It has fallen to you, therefore, to hold back the Dark. This seems a terrible and overwhelming responsibility. I counsel you therefore: do not take it too seriously." Gasps of shock and puzzlement. "I mean by this: fight hard, but never desperately; do not think for a moment that any loss or setback you suffer -- even, God forbid, a final loss -- is your fault, your failure. It is we adults (us adults? I always get that wrong) who have failed, at least for now, and every moment you can keep Voldemort's forces at bay is a glory and a wonder for which your mothers and fathers and the rest of us elderly witches and wizards will always glow with pride. Take strength from each other; care for each other; above all, live and keep living. There is no situation, not even war, in which true tears or true laughter are ever out of place or inappropriate.

"You are fortunate to have as your captain an extraordinary..." Harry was startled at having the third-person narration suddenly take this quasi-first-person turn, and stopped reading for a moment; the students immediately erupted in laughter and cries of "go on, Harry, what's he say" "ahem an extraordinary young man who has proven himself countless times under circumstances which would have crushed the great majority of wizards. I have the greatest faith in him, and in you: whatever you might be hearing (as Sir Nicholas has related it) from certain rude bellowers outside," Harry realized that this bellowing was still going on, as loud as ever "_you _are the true heirs of the Founders.

"The password to my office is 'warm socks'; you may find the former headmasters a source of advice and assistance.

"Bless you all,

"Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore."

The students chanted out each name together in a sing-song tone -- "AL-bus BRI-an PER-ci-val WULF-ric DUM-ble-doorrre!!" -- a kind of mockery of the act of mockery, a double negative which ended as an expression of esteem.

The six officers quickly arrived at and entered the Headmaster's Office. The portraits were indeed full of advice, but were talking over one another to an extent which made it difficult to sort out. Fawkes was nowhere to be seen; presumably with Dumbledore. Hermione looked over the books on Dumbledore's desk but gave no indication she had discovered anything crucial. Ron and Neville scoured the room for anything that might look like a weapon. Luna seemed fascinated by the instruments which had escaped or recovered from Harry's fifth-year rampage...

"Guys... the Floo is still open."

Ginny's announcement brought activity to a halt. They gathered around the fireplace, and Harry thought he could still feel the heat, the residue of the dozen or more rapid firetrips that must have taken place in the morning.

"We have to close it" Ron said.

"Why?" Neville asked. "You heard Dumbledore, they're working to get out; it might be the only way back for the teachers."

"It also might be a way in for the Death Eaters," Hermione responded.

"But if they haven't come through yet..."

"Neville, we don't know how this spell worked, we don't know what's going to happen--"

"--and it's the only way for any of us to get out if things turn--"

Ginny interrupted: "None of us are going anywhere until this is settled one way or another!" Ron nodded in vigorous agreement.

Neville was not convinced, nor overawed by the double Weasley stare. "There are over a hundred kids here who aren't part of the DA. Over thirty of them are firsties--and they're only here because we took them here--"

"They're safer here, they _know_ that--"

"Ron, half of them are still asking me if this is some sort of test to prove they're worthy of entering Hogwarts!"

Ron was silent for a moment.

"Well... in a way--"

Neville angrily rejected the suggestion. The two argued further. Harry finally intervened.

"We can't treat them as... like they were, like us, Ron. They didn't volunteer. We have to try to protect them. For now, we're... --"

"_In loco parentis,_" suggested Hermione. "We're acting in the place of their parents."

Harry nodded. "But we still haven't decided what to do about the Floo."

"We could hold a Council" Luna suggested.

Neville backed this. Ron and Ginny were opposed, wanting to blow up the fireplace right now. Hermione was undecided. Harry finally sided with Neville and Luna, and the six raced back down to the Great Hall. The " 'Surrender!' chorus" which had been been mostly muffled within the Headmaster's office now assaulted their ears full force, and the faces at the tables showed that the students were feeling its effects. Hermione called for attention and started to explain the options.

Zacharias Smith was first to express his opinion.

"You want to blow up the Floo? That's mad."

"_YOUR RIGHTFUL LORD... THE HEIR OF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN..."_

"That's only one option," Hermione replied.

"It's the best option, you don't give the enemy free entrance, that's basic strategy," Ron said.

"_HAS ASSUMED HIS PLACE AT THE HEAD OF THE WIZARDING WORLD..."_

"So we just lock ourselves in here and wait?"

"_STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS, LISTEN TO THIS MESSAGE FROM YOUR RIGHTFUL LORD..."_

"No, we use this _Fortress_ as our _base_, and we _fight_."

"_YOUR LORD WISHES NO HARM TO YOU CHILDREN."_

"You mean we're all trapped here, under your little toy soldier regime..."

"_YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR HOMES AND SEE YOUR MOTHERS AND FATHERS..."_

"You want to go home, Smith? Do you know if you have a home to go back to?" There were gasps from many of the students, and some broke into tears. Hermione whispered something into Ron's ears, and he grimaced.

"_THESE ARE YOUR INSTRUCTIONS. YOU WILL LEAVE ALL WANDS BEHIND YOU..."_

"So that's your _encouraging_ advice, Weasley, just forget about about our families, give them up for dead?"

"_AND WALK OUT THE MAIN ENTRANCE SINGLE FILE._"

"And your advice Smith, you just want to fall in with what _they,_" (Ron waved towards the Surrender Chorus) "tell you?"

"_HARRY POTTER, YOU WILL BE THE FIRST IN THE LINE."_

"Oh, we're just supposed to do what _he_ tells us?" Smith pointed to Harry.

"_HARRY POTTER: DO NOT TRY TO ESCAPE. DO NOT MAKE ALL OF HOGWARTS PAY THE PRICE FOR YOUR FOLLY AND ARROGANCE. OUR LORD'S ANGER WILL FALL UPON THEM ALL__"_

Harry felt the weight of more than two hundred stares hit him in the face. A sudden, certain conviction hit him at the same time: _words aren't going to mean anything now. I've got to show them. _ He could hear his mother telling him not to try it, but after a brief argument she and his father gave him their reluctant assent.

As the argument between Ron and Zacharias resumed, Harry smiled, mounted his Firebolt and called "Be back soon!" to his astonished friends. Before they could get their limbs and wands unfrozen he had wound his way around the staircases, gotten up to the second story level, dodged a quick _Impedimenta_ from Hermione and rocketed away through a window in one of the turrets. There was no difficulty locating the Surrender Chorus, whose chants burst even louder on Harry's ear. They must have gone into the mind-dead state of repetition, he thought, because none of the three of them even looked up at the figure bolting into the night sky a few hundred meters away.

Harry felt a tingle as he crossed the wards and circled behind the still-oblivious Death Eaters, climbing as he went. He hovered for just a moment to get the three fish lined up in his sight, and went into his dive. Harry could feel his toes itching to burst out of his shoes and turn into prey-clutching talons, but he had no need for them; he knew that at a hundred mile per hour dive he could easily drive the end of his broomstick through the middle torso and crush the others' skulls with his claws... hands. At the last moment, though, Harry was able to suppress the raptor and employ a more conventional solution. He conjured some magical netting and swept them up, whirling them around as they rose screaming into the air.

The shock of impact knocked their wands flying, and they were quickly stupefied and bound on the fly. Harry was already flying full-speed back towards Hogwarts as he made the catch so he had almost made it back to the nest before the last _Incarcerus _could be pronounced. Back he flew through the second story window, alighted and dropped his load in the middle of the Great Hall. The entire process had taken less than twenty seconds.

The _thump_ of the Death Eaters' landing was like a gavel, silencing and stilling a hall which had been a chaos of noise and gesticulation a moment ago. Harry knew that everybody was looking for him to say something -- in fact some previous skeptics were now looking worshipfully up to him for guidance -- and he felt a spasm of panic. But he quickly realized that in the circumstances he didn't have to say anything specially eloquent, anything would get a positive response.

"One of us, thirty seconds, three of them down. Maybe the war won't last too long after all."

And that was enough to set off a roar of approval and a stamping of feet, which somehow mutated into a three-way food fight among the Houses which didn't die down for five solid minutes. While the turkey wings and soup and pudding were flying, Harry turned for the first time to his closest friends, with the realization that they wouldn't be as celebratory as the student body as a whole. They had apparently decided to defer the lectures and the smacks on the head till later, since Ginny came running to him with her arms opened and her face showing a smile of relief. Harry turned his body to avoid a face-to-face embrace and put one arm around her shoulder. He stretched out the other arm to gather in whoever else was close enough for a shoulder-to-shoulder hug, and it turned out to be Ron. He did not look to see Ginny's reaction.

The noise eventually died down, the food was cleaned up, and the decisions still hadn't made themselves: about the Floo, about the younger students... about what they were going to do with themselves. After some talk among the officers, Neville arose and called for attention.

"I seem to have been appointed interim Caretaker for now..." applause, especially from the first-years "so it's my, er, duty, to set out the rules. Umm... no trips to the Forbidden Forest" mock groans, throwing of bread. "OK, seriously. We are here for two reasons which are kind of contradictory: for safety, and to fight a war.

"We think this is the safest place in Great Britain, for the students who are too young and too unpracticed to fight. We think trying to floo out would be terribly risky. The enemy may gain control of the Ministry and therefore the Floo network. They could be working on that now. There may be time enough for those of you who want to, to go back to your homes. But we don't think it's a good idea. Whether your parents are free or prisoners, they want most of all for you to be safe. That's the best thing you can do for them.

"And also... if you stay, you can help us. You may not be out dueling Death Eaters, but any army needs support from people who aren't in combat. And we have an army here" cheers "an army made up -- you remember what Professor Dumbledore said, made up of the true heirs of the founders of all three houses" louder cheers, "and the army has a leader" even louder and longer cheers "and we won't stop until Moldy Voldy is moldering in the ground, and his soul ain't marching on." Furious cheers, lasting half a minute

"But we don't want anybody here who doesn't want to be here, who isn't... really, _devotedly_, going to be part of this. So here's what we're going to do. We're going to take everybody who _is_ committed to this war, this cause... who is committed to _Hogwarts_ -- and all of us will make a set of promises to each other. They are very serious, magically binding promises." Neville then recited, and elucidated, those oaths; by the end of his account there was an eager buzz through the hall. "And everybody else -- you're free to Floo out. In fact, we want you to Floo out. Because if you aren't going to part of this, we don't want you either at the victory parties or at the funerals.

"So... we're sorry, there just isn't time for any more debate, so, those who stay, on my ri-- excuse me, that's my left, your right, near Sir Cadogan. Those who are going to leave, to the staircase leading up the the Headmaster's office."

The Defense Association, making up almost a third of those present, immediately vaulted out of their seats and went to accept the congratulations of Sir Cadogan. "Oh, what an adventure... I would give an arm and a head to join you!" Some others followed rapidly, then the movement slowed to a trickle, with quite a few of the upper-years still undecided -- and then some of the first-years gave Neville a nod, a wave, or a clumsy salute, and made their way towards the Stay side, followed by the rest of the firsties. Their elders all followed, and soon it was unanimous.

It was time for the oath. The students of Hogwarts were asked to raise their wands and repeat:

"We swear, on our lives, never to let a comrade down; that whenever there is hope for them, we will never to fail to come to their aid or their rescue;

"We swear, on our magic, that if any of us dies, they will always be remembered, and their story will be told;

"And we swear, on our magic, that those of us who make it through this war will always continue to remember, to support and to rescue one another after the war, for as long as we live."

Once again Harry saw dozens of wands flare brightly in assent to a magical promise -- again it was a brilliant green. Hermione and Ron had crafted these oaths carefully; the first oath, and to some extent the second, made for an army which would fight as devotedly and fearlessly as humanly possible, for they would go into the battle confident that every one of their fellows was right behind to pluck them out of danger, and they knew that to shirk that duty themselves was to invite instant death. The last oath was meant as a powerful incentive to join this army and this cause. _If we win this_, thought Harry, _not only will nobody want to deny us anything, nobody will be __able__ to deny us anything, because they'd have to fight all two hundred twenty of us to do it._ And Harry would be the lifelong leader of this irresistible band: what would that make him?

But there would be time to consider such questions when the war was over. _It's all going to end here; at Hogwarts_. That was a more satisfying thought.

Ginny, Harry, Hermione, Luna, Neville and Ron solemnly brought down the fireplace and its Floo connection with a joint Reducto. The students of Hogwarts were alone. They were together.


	5. Come and Gather, Children

**A/N: **_**The "artwork" accompanying the Asterish-English dictionary (depicting different planets moving against different starry backgrounds) won't come through on this forum,so I beg you to picture them for yourselves.**_

_**To hear one version of the stirring music of "Rachie," go to www dot melbournewelshchoir dot com dot au Harry's taunt to Malfoy will probably be recognized by most readers as the song of Sir Robin's minstrels in **__**Monty Python and the Holy Grail**_

**V. Come and gather, children**

At the end of the exhausting first day at Hogwarts there were no calls for prefects to escort students to their rooms, and sleeping arrangements were left in a state of indecision. The Slytherin password had been uncovered in the Headmaster's office, leaving plenty of extra space for those looking to take advantage of it, and a number of couples did so. None of the officers thought the issue worth their attention so long as everybody involved was old enough to have covered silencing and contraceptive charms. Harry went to sleep in his usual dorm with Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus, and woke up with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Dean and Seamus. (Within a few days Dean and Seamus had moved out, presumably to the girls' dorm with Parvati and Lavender.)

In the morning the radio was playing its reassuring static, and breakfast was proceding with surprisingly healthy appetites and good-spirited noisiness when a rumble was heard near the statue of Barnabas the Barmy. A few words from the officers sent the DA into their positions, wands ready, and Harry felt a surge of glee at how quickly and efficiently the army had responded to what might turn into the first encounter of the war. Rumbles turned into the sound of footsteps, footsteps which stopped ominously close, just on the other side of the wall. The tense silence in the hall was finally split by two voices coming from that other side, declaring:

"_Knock, knock_!"

Though the pair of voices certainly sounded familiar, the officers maintained silence.

"Oh, come on, you expect to win a war with troops who don't even know the right response to 'knock, knock?' "

The temptation was too much for Ron.

"Who's there?"

"Attaboy, Ronnikins!"

" 'Attaboy Ronnikins' who?"

"That wasn't the 'Who's There?' answer, you dolt." "We were just happy to hear your voice." "God knows why." "Yeah start again."

"I'm not bloody starting again, get on with it."

"You expect us to ruin the rhythm of one of our jokes because you stepped on your line?"

"WHO'S THERE?" Harry yelled.

"G. Wea."

"G. Wea Who?"

"Gee, we hope you still have room for us in your little sleepover party."

"Ha ha," Harry responded, "and how do you close the Marauders'--"

"Wait a minute, you haven't heard my knock knock!"

"Oh for 's sake--"

"HERMIONE!" "Oh Ron, what have you done to our sweet English rose?" "Yeah, what have you done; we want details." "For example, have you--"

"F. WEA WHO" Ginny interrupted.

"F wea pass your stupid ID, will you let us out of this passageway already? because we're freezing our arses off here." "And the answer of course, is 'Mischief Managed.'"

The entranceway was opened, and the twins embraced their brother and sister, then the rest of their friends.

"As you can see," Fred proclaimed, "we didn't come emptyhanded." He and George dragged two bulging sacks out for inspection.

The officers peered within. One bag contained fifty or so Slinkies. The other held as many rolls of Saran Wrap. The brothers waited expectantly.

"Well... Voldemort's in real trouble now," Harry finally announced.

"Truer words were never spoken, Captain Potter" said George.

"And for those of you who are wondering what use a bunch of prank items can be in a war," Fred declared to all who were listening, "we have an answer."

"Pay attention now," said George, "because these are the words which may define us for future generations."

"And those words are: _A trap is just a prank that doesn't let go_."

A murmur of _hmmmm_ went through the hall in response to Fred's epigram.

"We were debating whether to have that put on our tombstones," George continued.

"And we're really kicking ourselves now that we didn't buy those when the market was soft."

"As an alternative, we were considering _Silliness may not save your life, but it's damn good evidence that you are alive._"

After they had given assurances that the passageway they had used to come in from Hogsmeade wasn't still open to infiltrators, George and Fred sat down to breakfast with the officers. Ron recounted the scene at Platform 9 3/4 and George tried to summarize the family situation. "So, Mum's home in the Burrow, Dad is probably at the Ministry, Percy too, Bill's in Egypt, Charlie's in Rumania, neither of them effected--"

"But once they hear what's happening they'll probably try to come back," Fred suggested.

"And the first thing they'll try to do..."

"...is check out what happened to the Burrow."

The four Weasleys shook their heads. It seemed they would have to count Bill and Charlie as out of action.

"So why didn't you two get caught up?" Hermione asked.

"We were in France when everything went mad," George said, "talking business with Zonkos of Paris."

"Then we came back to Hogsmeade, made a stop at Honeydukes, and about a hundred members of the Moldy Voldy fan club are marching down main street, calling everybody out, raus raus, everybody line up and be counted in the name of His Feculency," Fred continued.

"We kept down and disillusioned and tossed out a few extendible ears--"

"Speaking of which," Ginny said, "I'm assuming you got the idea for using Saran Wrap from eavesdropping on our OWL review. You owe us royalties."

"We'll take that under consideration," Fred grudgingly answered. George picked up the tale.

"Lucius Malfoy was the one at the head of the parade. Well, either him or a bowl of snot transfigured into semi-human shape."

"Then we heard everybody's footsteps hurrying to fall into line."

"And one set of footsteps tapping in last."

There was a pause, then Fred continued. "After a moment or two, Malfoy said, 'Mr. Sheffield, you seem the least enthusiastic here in declaring your allegiance to our Lord'--"

"All right," Hermione interrupted, "I think we know what happened next."

"Yeah, he was killed on the spot" Fred confirmed in a loud voice which made heads turn around the nearby tables. There was a moment's silence.

"No resistance after that," said George.

"We plan on changing that."

"Phase One is figuring out a way to put glasses and buck teeth on the Dark Mark."

"Not that there's anything wrong with glasses, Captain Potter."

"Perish the thought."

"Or with --"

"Don't finish that sentence, Fred," Hermione warned.

"We need to coordinate," Ron said, putting on his best no-nonsense voice to his determinedly yes-nonsense brothers. For once, it seemed to get through, and after some discussion of the mechanics of such coordination the elder Weasleys said their so longs and returned down the tunnel to their base of operations/chocolate source.

----------

The six officers now put themselves to the task of reckoning their assets and liabilities. Ron asked Hermione to create some form on which students would make a list (a truthful one, on pain of pimpling) of their abilities and weaknesses. The six knew one another's strengths and weaknesses well enough after all this time, though Harry might have something new to add: after a year's work, with considerable help from Sirius's diaries, he was very close to achieving his Animagus form. It was a raptor, he knew, and a very large one. It would be crucial to determine precisely what kind, for the magic governing the Animagus transformation was demanding and pitiless: within an hour after the first full transformation the Animagus needed to eat a meal in that animal's form, of that animal's food, or die.

Among the students' strongest assets was Hogwarts and its system of wards, though given a free hand the Death Eaters would eventually be able to bring them down. This pointed to the need to go on the offensive from time to time rather than sit passively inside their fortress when the siege began in earnest. The essential question was whether this was reasonable wartime risk or suicidal folly, and there was no way to answer that question except through trial. On a simple power scale, it would surely be folly: the average student wasn't nearly as magically strong or knowledgeable as the average Death Eater. The students would almost certainly be outnumbered to boot, with only seventy-two trained DA members. (Ron was heavily reluctant to throw any new volunteers into the battle until they had been through a significant training period.) The Death Eaters in Hogsmeade alone, according to Fred and George's report, numbered over a hundred. The hope of Hogwarts rested in the fact that the students were not simply an assemblage of individually powerful witches and wizards but a well-trained team. MG3 had driven home the point, again and again, that the average pureblood, especially the average Slytherin, had almost no concept of the power of teamwork. Their attitude might be compared to that of a medieval Samurai, who saw power as a function of each individual's swordsmanship and willpower. In this worldview, one with lesser power would lose a duel to one with more, and a battle was won by the side which won the most individual duels. Defense exercises had consistently demonstrated, however, that four relatively weak students acting in concert would almost always prevail against four relatively strong students each casting spells individually as the mood struck them.

The great unknown, of course, was Harry vs. Voldemort. Even if the Hogwarts students prevailed against the first attacks, that would certainly bring Riddle to their gates in order to settle his scores in person. Harry still didn't know how exactly he was going to perform the prophesied vanquishing. The last prophetic word he had heard was not encouraging. He recalled Lavender and Parvati coming at the end of last year to reveal reluctantly what Firenze had shared with them.

"_The rest of the centaurs take this very seriously," Parvati had said. 'That's part of why they were so set against trying to help you."_

"_Because I'm going to lose anyway," Harry concluded. The two young witches glumly nodded agreement. Lavender then unfolded a star chart onto the library table and Parvati used her wand to levitate a book next to it, too heavy to be physically lifted. Ron and Hermione looked over Harry's shoulder as their housemates opened the book to a page about a third of the way through the huge volume._

"_This is the only copy," Lavender declared in a hushed voice, "of the Asterish-to-English dictionary. Firenze says he composed this himself." Harry couldn't see any order in the hundreds of pages filled with hand-drawn star and planet symbols crawling across the page in all directions._

"_How can it be the only copy?" Hermione asked. "How do the Centaurs learn all their astrology without books?"_

"_Firenze says that Asterish is their native language" Parvati said. "He produced this for our benefit, once he saw that the other centaurs were so convinced -- well, we'll get to that -- anyway, when he saw they weren't going to do anything about the war."_

_The page they were turned to, it turned out, held the highlighted entry for the first element of the star chart, the basis for the Centaur forecasts of the war's outcome. Page by page, the highlighted sections of the dictionary allowed them to translate the chart:_

_ Evil, Deadly_

_ Ruler, Commander_

_ Defeat completely, Destroy_

_and other positions and motions indicating "passive participle_ _of 'to Choose,Select' "; "in great number or volume"; "Tears"; and "ablative of 'Power'." These came together into a sentence, a sentence imposed upon Harry by the Centaurs: _

"_**The Dark Lord**__**shall**__** Destroy the Chosen One, **__**and**__** a Flood of Tears **__**shall come**__** Irresistibly **__literally, "with power"_

Naturally, everybody had fallen back on the notorious fact that even the most seemingly decisive prophecies often bore some hidden sense only apparent in retrospect, but Harry didn't see much wiggle room in "A destroys B". He still tried to maintain an optimistic front, of course, before the student body or in the current discussion of ways to counter Voldemort's terrible strength.

"It seems very simple to me." Luna had the floor now. "If Harry has the power to defeat Voldemort, then whatever Harry is best at has to be the thing Voldemort is most vulnerable to. Harry, what would you consider has been your greatest asset so far?"

"Luck" Harry responded immediately, then revised and extended his remark: "People being ready to risk themselves, coming to my rescue." He looked guiltily at Ron and Hermione, remembering last year at Grimmauld Place...

"That _is_ a very powerful magical resource," Luna said, nodding vigorously. "And the special advantage of having it is that it can be applied to almost any situation--"

"Luna, I was joking; you can't really count luck as a power."

"Why not?"

It seemed obvious to Harry, but he had a hard time putting it into words. _Power_ was something you... powered. It came _out_ of yourself, you hit people with the _force_ of it. Luck was just something that came _to_ you, maybe, if you were... lucky. You didn't bring it about though, with your own... power. Or having friends who would help you, that was because of what _they_ felt, being your friends, you couldn't make them, _force _them. Then Harry remembered

"_You draw people to you who can help you; it's part of your magical endowment."_

He still didn't understand how magic worked. _Have to look into it some day, if I get the chance. _Harry then recalled that Luna was waiting for an answer.

"I don't know. Maybe you're right, Luna, but I don't feel like 'trusting to luck', you know, literally, agai-- with so much at stake."

"Well then," Luna persevered, "leaving that aside, what do you consider your greatest strength?"

Harry tried to think of something that wasn't abstract, like "determination"; something you could hit somebody with. Nothing really came to mind.

"In terms of the spells we've learned," Ginny suggested, "it would have to be your Patronus."

Everyone assented to that. Hermione summarized: "You learned it at a remarkably young age, and you've used it to extraordinary effect."

Luna was beaming with satisfaction. "It's obvious then," she cried: "Voldemort must be a Dementor!"

The other officers had moved past the point where any suggestion by Luna would be greeted with rolled eyes and a change of subject, but they were struggling to give this their full consideration. Ron offered a counter-proposal:

"Harry's also a professional-level Seeker, Luna. Maybe that means Voldemort must be a Golden Snitch?"

There was a moment of silence, during which Luna turned to Ron with a look of concern. "Ron," she said gently, "wouldn't you consider that a little..." -- she was obviously struggling not to be too brutally frank -- "a little... far-fetched?"

"Umm, yeah, maybe so. Sorry, Luna. I move we put off any more Voldie talk for now."

Harry was glad enough to second that motion, but something about Luna's crazy idea stuck in his head. The way Tom turned everything into a spectacle with all his gloating and threatening, when he could so easily kill his enemy and be done with it, like he could have so easily killed Harry in the Little Hangleton graveyard... did he, like a Dementor, _need_ the fear, or at least get some sustenance from it?

----------

Ron took to ferociously drilling the Defense Association, which now in time of war was in search of a more appropriate name for themselves. "Dumbledore's Army" seemed off: the Headmaster wasn't their leader now, nor was he, personally, their cause. Suggestions included "The Army of Hogwarts," which was rejected as too plain, "The True Heirs' Army" (too pompous), "The Army of the Three Founders" (too cute), "The Oath-Takers' Army," which drew some votes, as did "The Army of Upper Hogwarts," suggested by Lee's "Army of Northern Virginia" for its implication that this was only a fraction of the forces they could muster if needed; but in the end "The Army of the Forbidden Forest" was chosen, though they had neither fought nor expected to fight there, because it sounded so cool. A set of phoenix masks were made part of the uniform, partly as a visual comeback to the Death Eater masks, but more, Harry was sure, to guard his own identity and prevent a mass attack on him.

The Army of the Forbidden Forest, then, practiced its spells in the Room of Requirement and its maneuvers on the Quidditch Pitch, which gave them the opportunity to fly and to feel the sun and air from within the safety of the wards. Over and over Ron stressed that the first encounter was their best chance to drastically lessen the odds against them for the whole war. Figure that Voldie, or whoever was making the tactical decisions, underestimated them, and didn't want to spare too large a portion of his strike force; say they felt that a hundred marked wizards and witches would be more than enough both to take down the wards and to deal with a few score schoolchildren; hope that all of MG3's assumptions were right; pray that everything broke right for them on the battlefield; then they could kill or capture the bulk of the attack force, maybe all of them, and suddenly the two sides would be a lot closer to evenly matched. But the Army would have to be ready to kill; if they met in the air they would have to be ready to knock their attacker off their brooms from a height which would guarantee death. _Would that spell do it, Abbot? What about it, Finnegan? Are you putting enough into it to push them over and out? _

Over the next few days, despite (or because of) there being no sign of any assault, tension began to rise again. Some students found themselves unable to keep food down, some began drawing wands against nothing, or against one another. At the dinner table one night some third year made a passing reference to "You Know Who" and one of his classmates stood up, pointed a finger at the euphemist, and loudly demanded, so the entire hall could hear him,

"Say 'Voldem_-- ... _Say _Volde-_-... Say--"

and then sat down in choked humiliation.

It wasn't only the younger students who heard this breakdown in bravado and were reminded of the sickening fears they had been pushing aside. If _he_ were to open the gates and walk slowly down the Hall, wand at his side and disdain on his face, would they cast a spell against him? or would the shaking even allow them to raise their wands, when the only thought running through their minds would be _please don't let him look at me_?

It was time for the prophecy (previously known only by the other five officers) to be shared. Dumbledore's pensieve was used to show the relevant dialogue between Harry and the Headmaster to any skeptics (and there were a few). For many students, knowing that there was among them one who _had the power_ made the crucial difference between soul-crushing despair and mere stomach-turning fear. At the end of this long day, the sixth since their arrival at Hogwarts, veins were throbbing on every forehead (especially that of Neville, who had been circulating among all the tables, tirelessly answering questions and issuing reassurances). Ron brought many of those veins to bursting by telling the rest of the officers that he wanted a way to ensure nobody would be captured, and did Harry have any way of getting more of "that stuff he had taken with him to Grimmauld Place last year?" Hermione went into a rage and refused to hear any more discussion of the topic. Harry found the path of least resistance lay in agreeing with her. Neville and Luna were giving him looks full of curiosity. They knew that something horrible and deadly had taken place at the old Black mansion, suspected it had involved a death wish on Harry's part, but had never been given the details; only Ron, Hermione and Ginny knew those. One of these days, he would have to clear it all up.

The seventh day dawned, and a mostly silent hall ate their breakfast. The Army of the Forbidden Forest put on their practice gear and prepared to head for the Quidditch Pitch. The younger students went off into their study groups, organized by Hermione to keep the flame of learning alive. And the radio broke out of its static mode and began singing for the first time.

For a long moment, the only motion to be seen in all Hogwarts was that of Sir Cadogan jumping up and down in excitement and attempting to mount his horse. Then came shouts and rushes in all directions, mostly corresponding (miracuously enough) to the orders issued by the officers for this occasion. Above the clatter of feet on marble, the voice of a chorus could still be heard on the radio, singing in Welsh. Few knew the tune and fewer the language, but in a hall so filled with magic that proved no obstacle. The song is called "Rachie," and the English version begins something like this:

_Come and gather, children_

_On the side of Light;_

_You shall hold the balance_

_In the final fight!_

_Satan gathers power;_

_Demons him obey;_

_God shall find us faithful_

_Till the dawn of day_.

Then the initial stanza, _Come and gather, children/ On the side of Light_... repeated, now sung together by most of the Army and many of the younger witches and wizards... then

_Hell and darkness threaten_

_With their deadly flame;_

_We shall meet them blow for blow _

_In Jesu's name!_

_We'll rush in together_

_None shall fail his friend;_

_Till we stand embracing at_

_The battle's end!_

_Come and gather children, _sang two hundred and twenty nine voices;

_On the side of light, _they proclaimed;

_**We **__will hold the balance, _they told themselves, ad-libbing a little

_In the final fight._

_COME AND GATHER, CHILDREN, _came a roar that rattled the helmets and woke the spirits of the old suits of armor,

_ON THE SIDE OF LIGHT;_

_WE WILL MAKE THE DIFFERENCE_

_IN THE FI...NAAAL FIIIGHT!_

All the students, all the statues, all the paintings, were on their feet now, if they had feet, shouting, if they had mouths. Harry felt he had to get out and fight now, or his head would explode. _"FOLLOW ME," _he yelled; "COME ON COME ON COME ON!" And as Sir Cadogan capered back and forth leaping from one frame to another like a long-confined border collie, the Army of the Forbidden Forest rushed out to battle.

The eighteen mini-squads of four brooms each tore out the gate, they soared past the Quidditch Pitch, in a moment they would come to the wards -- Harry passed them and felt a tingle, not as strong as when he had flown out a week ago, but still there -- he looked down and there were upwards of a hundred forty Death Eaters...

_And they were all standing in line on the ground!_

The arrogant bastards had all simply approached to a few meters from the wards, an optimal distance for their anti-ward spells, and were _standing in a line_ at leisure, with their leader -- Lucius Malfoy, Harry was sure of it -- calmly counting off "one, two, three: _Dissipio!_" Ron was staring down in amazement, like a chess player whose opponent has just made a grossly amateurish blunder, and is temporarily paralyzed by having so many ways of making him pay for it. The moment of indecision quickly passed, and he issued a series of orders.

First, eight squads hovering high out of sight waited until the long line all had their wands out and the first syllable of "Dissipio" was on their lips, then dived and cast "Stupefy!" at their stationary targets before they could change their spell or the direction of their wands in self-defense. There were perhaps twenty direct hits (about ten on each wing): the students were flying too fast and aiming from too far away to insure perfect accuracy, and they quickly doubled their distance from the enemy by soaring up and away as soon as they had let loose the first volley. The Death Eaters in the middle who hadn't been hit all swivelled instinctively in the direction of the retreating squads and tried to cast curses at them. The thirty two students were way out of range by then, and the Death Eaters had virtually all turned their backs towards the next wave of flyers, whose stunning spells now rained down on them, striking another score unconscious.

Lucius finally gave his first defensive command, ordering everybody on the wings to put up shield spells for themselves and the rest, while those in the center were to keep up a barrage of deadly curses if any more flyers approached. Ron gave another set of orders. While a token few squads kept up a light barrage of spells (none piercing the Death Eater shields), two larger sets of squads on either side took out their sacks of ordinance. First, they grabbed a fistful of pebbles and tossed them downward towards the enemy wings, waited until they had fallen almost out of range of their transfiguration spells, and turned them into boulders. Then they tossed down thirty two Slinkies and thirty two rolls of Saran Wrap.

_Protego_ spells, notoriously, did not offer protection against physical objects, so to keep from being crushed by the falling rocks the Death Eaters quickly abandoned those shields in favor of _Impedimenta _or _Reducto_ spells. These worked for the most part, although some of the less skillfully aimed spells only pushed the missiles in the direction of their comrades or created shrapnel blowback, disabling five or six more. But the real devastation came from the pranks that would not let go, which had fallen on them while they were preoccupied with the boulders: the wrapping plastic unwound itself and sought the faces of the Death Eaters, becoming form-fitting masks which didn't lose their cling until their victims passed out; the bouncy toys climbed up their legs and squeezed around their wand arms, slicing deep into their fingers, crushing their hands and their wands. Some of the Death Eaters managed to come to the aid of the afflicted ones in time to prevent the worst, but not many, and those who did try to help laid themselves open to further barrages of spells and weapons.

Within minutes of their initial attack, the Army of the Forbidden Forest had put more than half of their hundred and forty attackers out of combat. They now had the initiative, the high ground _and _the numbers. Those who were strongest with a wand but weakest in the air -- notably, Hermione and Neville -- had landed and disillusioned themselves early in the fight, and had spent their time mostly incarcerating the fallen and picking away at those who tried to enervate or release them. Now, at another signal from Ron, they circled behind the enemy and put up anti-apparation wards.

In the meanwhile, Lucius was finally getting around to organizing the able-bodied wizards left unhit into something of a defensible position. He ordered them to take to their brooms and pursue their tormentors, but the A.F.F. was ready for this too. From their higher level they sent down a series of turbulence spells which effectively prevented most of the enemy from lifting off, and kept those who did from being able to control their flight. Then they sent handful after handful of the transfigured pebbles down into the howling wind, this time with only a mild engorgement spell. The winds whipped the stones around with deadly effect; they were too many, too small, moving too fast and too erratically to be knocked away with spellwork, especially spellwork performed by a wizard trying to hold onto a bucking broomstick in a windstorm. A Death Eater fell, then another, then another... With a curse, Lucius ordered a general Disapparation. Thirty witches and wizards disappeared... then reappeared in the same spot, a dozen of them badly splinched.

In desperation, Lucius gathered the remaining eighteen around himself, and the group simultaneously incanted a series of spells to blast an escape path for themselves through the rocks and turbulence. They managed to lift off and began their flight through the self-created magical tunnel, away from the wards, away from Hogwarts, to explain to their Lord how they low-lying fruit they had been sent to pluck had turned out to be a Stinging Tentacula. Now, like a pod of dolphins circling a smaller and smaller school of mackerel, thirty Hogwarts flyers sliced across the escape path, cut off the rear six from their twelve fellows, and quickly surrounded and overwhelmed them. The remnant twelve didn't so much as glance back, just kept fleeing. Then another thirty students performed the same maneuver, cutting off the six hindmost of the remainder.

There were only six Death Eaters left now, and Harry was among the group of twelve sniping at their rear, hoping to complete the annihilation. As he approached, Lucius barked an order, and four of the Death Eaters turned around to try slowing down the pursuers and so allow their leader to get away. Harry found the idea infuriating, that Malfoy would get away, that after being such a 100-proof balls-up 'commander' he would get some more of his own men killed or captured so he could save his own worthless neck. Harry broke off from his group and flew as fast as he could towards the two rapidly disappearing escapees. At that distance a destructive spell wouldn't carry, so he hurled the only thing he could at them, at the top of his voice:

"That's right, Malfoy, that's what we expected... _He's packing it in and packing it up, and sneaking away and buggering off, and chickening out and pissing off home..._"

On hearing the voice, the second Death Eater stopped and turned his broom back, calling back over his shoulder towards Lucius: "Father, it's Potter! It's Potter! If we kill him, we've still won! We can kill him now!"

Lucius didn't so much as slow down in his escape, but Draco now was within striking range. And at that moment, Harry suddenly, stupidly, froze. He knew he was Voldemort's target, the Death Eaters' target, but somehow, ridiculously, the idea that a fellow Hogwarts student would be looking to kill him like this came as a shock. Draco only needed that moment of shock to cast a turbulence spell of his own, and Harry's hasty counter-spell came too late. The broom swung up and Harry hung onto it; it swung left, and Harry swung with it; it swung hard left again while Harry was guessing right; then the broom took one route, Harry took another, and then there was only one route left for Harry to take.

He looked down at the approaching ground about two hundred feet below himself, tried and failed to finish the Animagus transformation, and screamed a curse at himself for his own stupidity. The sound of the curse dissipated in the wind, so Harry howled it out again, wishing he knew a spell to make it follow him into the ground and under it. _I'm sorry Mum, I'm sorry_, he thought, and closed his eyes. Then he felt the sudden shock of impact... on his two rear cheeks.

Harry opened his eyes, and saw his vector had changed from "plummet straight down" to something like an airplane's landing vector... too steep, still. He didn't dare turn around to see who or what had grabbed his behind, out of fear the motion would disturb their grip or concentration. He felt something starting to slide up beneath him towards his head, and quickly realized it was a broom stick. He hesitated--

"Grab it, Harry, help me keep it up!"

He hastily did so, not in time to get them airborne but in time to turn a crash landing into a hard bump, a long bounce, a skid through the grass (the friction of which almost set his kneepads on fire) and a final rollover, at the end of which Harry found himself lying on his back. He lifted his head and found he was looking straight into the face of Ginny Weasley, just above his knees. She was panting with exertion, her clothes had been badly torn from the landing, and her arms were snaked under his legs and her hands were still magically fastened to his buttocks.

Needless to say, that was the condition everybody found them in when they came flying and running to the crash site. Explanations were deferred; first Harry offered a fast and (he knew) deeply inadequate string of "thank you"s, then came the de-sticking, and a quick search for injuries. Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna hastened over to check them both out.

"Any casualties?" Harry asked.

"Believe it or not, mate," Ron answered, "I think you two are the worst we have."

Harry opened his eyes wide in incredulity. _Two scraped knees? A few dislocated knuckles?_ "And them?"

"Five dead. Forty injured, a few might not survive. Eighty nine prisoners."

Harry shook his head and started... he wasn't sure what to call it: giggling, crying, barking? Whatever it was, it was contagious, and soon the rest of the officers were joining in, arms around one another, except for Luna, who cleared her throat and apologized for not quite getting the rhythm and tone of the piece they were performing. This set off another round, which was interrupted when Hermione cried "Look!" and pointed to the Quidditch Pitch. A few members of the Army of the Forbidden Forest were at work on the scoreboard there, and when they had flown off the officers could see it now read,

LAST MATCH OF THE SEASON, CURRENT SCORE:

HOGWARTS 10, DEATH EATERS 0


	6. Advances and Retreats

_**A/N**__: Thanks to those of you who have reviewed or placed the story on your alert lists; even one such acknowledgment is priceless encouragement. _

_In case my editing did not correct the slip ups from last chapter: the URL for one version of the Welsh song "Rachie" is www (dot) melbournewelshchoir (dot) com (dot) au (slash) ourmusic (slash) mp3 (slash) fromtheheart (slash) rachie (dot) mp3; Harry's taunt to Malfoy will probably be recognized by most readers as the song of Sir Robin's minstrels in __Monty Python and the Holy Grail__; and Fred and George's shocked reaction is because Hermione has just cried out "Oh, for f#$'s sake!" (dashes didn't register)._

_Harry's "My Ass Belongs to Ginny" is, naturally, to the tune of "My Heart Belongs to Daddy"_

_In this as in other chapters, please assume that any apparent blunders in Latin are actually the result of fine distinctions between Classical Latin and its Wizarding counterpart._

_Names of the defenders and besiegers, if not from canon, come from some of my favorite fanfics (from this and other sites)._

_Bruce Springsteen's performance of "Oh Mary Don't You Weep" can be found on You Tube. There have been numerous settings of the Robert Burns poem, "A man's a man for a' that."_

**vi. Advances, Retreats**

When the A.F.F. marched, dragged, and levitated the prisoners into the castle, they expected a universal shout of victory that would rattle the windows. But the first sounds were more like mutters of astonishment and yelps of nervousness, as many seemed to fear that in a moment the captors and captives would exchange places and faces. It had taken until almost the entire army had entered for the hall to come out of its dazed and silent state and start daring to believe the evidence of their senses. "Do you want to pinch them to see if they're real?" Ron had suggested, and that opened the hall to roars of laughter and approval and exclamations of gratitude and relief that lasted several minutes. By the next day, students were indulging their glee in the traditional way:

"_So Lucius comes crawling to Snakeface, and after he's rolled over and piddled a few times he says 'My Lord, about the assault on Hogwarts, I have good news and bad news.' Voldie says, 'What's the good news?' And Malfoy says 'Our troops are now inside Hogwarts!' So Voldie says, 'That is good news, now what's the bad news?' And Malfoy says, 'They're all locked up in the dungeon'."_

There actually were over a hundred Death Eaters confined in the dungeons. The officers had decided to keep them stupefied for most of their stay so they would have less opportunity to plot escape and less need of supervision, or food. (Food supply was not a problem for the forseeable future, since the grounds and gardens were within the wards, but there was no point in being extravagant.) Seven of them were dead, five on the spot and two whom Pomfrey was unable to save. Some of the students objected to providing any medical attention to Death Eaters, but when Lieutenant Ginny Weasley went directly from her own examination to Madame Pomfrey's side, their arguments subsided.

"You don't have to help them, you know," Harry told her. Ginny shrugged and said, "They need treatment, and I'm the one who's had the most training."

"Well... you've already saved one life today, thanks again for that."

"That was my sworn duty, Captain Potter," she said with a quick, weak smile, and Harry saw for the first time one of the unanticipated consequences of the oath: some people would feel that the value of their bravery had gone down because the oath pushed it on them. He gave Ginny a mock salute and a pat on the shoulder. Later, he realized that what he should have said was something like "but you don't have any sworn duty to these people, they were trying to kill you and you're still helping them."

Still another reason for Harry to have Ginny on his mind was all the talk he heard on the general theme of Ginny's claim on his posterior. Harry tried his best to laugh along with everyone, even submitting to swallowing a singing candygram from Fred and George which caused him to burst into a number in front of the student body:

_When I fell off my broom_

_Took a plunge to my doom_

'_Cause I froze like a first-year ninny;_

_If I didn't go __**splat**_

_There's a reason for that:_

'_Cause my ass belongs to Ginny_

_If some girls take a no-_

_tion to slip me a po-_

_tion, it might make my head go all spinny;_

_But I'd still have to say_

_At the end of the day_

_That my ass belongs to Ginny_

_Yes my ass belongs to Ginny_

_And you poachers never can win;_

_Oh my ass belongs to Ginny_

_G-G-Gee G-G-Gee G-G-Gin_

_So I'll give all you lasses the skinny_

_You can write it down as a fact_

_Oh my ass belongs to Ginny_

'_Cause my Ginny, she kept it intact!_

It received a standing ovation and three encores. But Harry wasn't going to get pushed into starting anything, however many crude hints got dropped -- those just got his back up...

"You can scarcely call it 'starting,' Harry; you two were very clearly going to give things a try as soon as the term began."

Harry couldn't deny this, of course, but that wasn't the point anymore. "That's the thing, Dad," he responded. "This isn't the time for 'giving things a try'."

"Really? Looking around at the sleeping arrangements, I'd say--"

"Don't be flippant, James."

"Sorry, Lily, but if his friends of the same age are finding comfort in one another, why should Harry feel he has to be alone?"

"I'm not going to make Ginny my _comfort woman_."

Harry felt he had ended this conversation decisively, but his father continued.

"And everybody else who's in a relationship is just using the other person? Ron and Hermione? Luna and Neville?"

"They were already in relationships when this started, of course they weren't going to break up now. But if I started something in the middle of all this, what am I going to do after it's over? I mean, if I don't want to stay with her, how could I break up with her? After she was by my side when it was life and death? And another thing, isn't this supposed to be -- isn't she, if she is, if we are going to be together, isn't that supposed to be the most important thing in my life? But it isn't, not now. But I'd have to act like it was--"

"Nonsense, Harry!" said Lily, and James said something along those lines as well.

"Well, that's what I've always read about it, that it's supposed to come first, didn't you come first for each other? Please don't tell me you didn't, please don't..."

"Shh, Harry, it's alright--"

"And after I've been cool to her for this last week, now when she's saved my life, if I start now, it'll seem like I'm saying this is her reward--"

"Wait dear, slow down. Why did you start being cool in the first place?"

"I was going to be in charge, what happens if, I don't know, I needed to, tactically, to put her someplace less risky, will everybody start thinking I did it because we're together? Or--"

"Harry, why do you have to talk to _us _about this," James interrupted. "You know how we've warned you--"

"I can't talk to Ron, he's her brother, and I don't really feel like asking Hermione--"

"No, we think you should talk to Ginny," Lily said.

Harry was taken aback. "I couldn't. How could I bring any of this up without sounding like... like I'm so full of myself I have to console her for not getting this 'prize' right now?"

"We can't tell you what to say," Lily replied; "but if you're an adult, you're expected to be able to find a way to talk with the people who matter most to you about your relationships with them, whether they're romantic or not."

"Well then that's _another_ reason I shouldn't be starting any relationship with her, I'm not _mature_ enough."

"Harry, you're already in a_... Harry!_"

"Don't turn away, Harry, don't go off sulking, please."

Harry took a breath and offered his embarrassed apologies. "Sorry. Sorry, Mum, sorry, Dad." James and Lily sighed.

"Harry, it will work out. Don't force anything."

"Thanks, Dad. That's all I wanted to hear, really."

"I know, son."

----------

The Army of the Forbidden Forest went back to drilling, Ron giving urgent warnings that the next fight wasn't going to be nearly as easy as the first. Harry found his concentration lapsing from time to time as he indulged in fantasies about showing Draco a thing or two. Curiously, these daydreams did not take the form of outdueling the ferret in a life-and-death air battle, but of outflying him in a 7th-year Quidditch match, the crowd applauding as Harry forced the Slytherin seeker to the ground again and again, thousands laughing as Draco tried to dust himself off and get back on his broom, then glared up at Harry, who cockily waved to him from above... He was prevented from finishing one such fantasy when the radio static once again coughed, stuttered, and resolved itself into a song:

_If I could, I surely would_

_Stand on the rock where Moses stood_

_Pharaoh's army got drown-ded_

_Oh Mary don't you weep_

But this time the army didn't fly out; they took up posts in the towers overlooking the front, set themselves behind the "archers' slots" in the castle and saw through Omnioculars the Death Eater battalion. They were scattered in the air this time, having obviously learned a lesson from the last encounter. (Harry wondered whether Lucius had survived long after delivering his report.) There were actually fewer of them now, maybe a hundred twenty-five, and the students took heart from this: maybe the occupation of Wizarding Britain was not going so smoothly for Voldemort and his resources were less than they had feared... Or maybe, Harry thought, by sending a smaller army to do what the larger army one couldn't he was trying some odd form of psyche-out, implicitly mocking the students' first win as sheer luck in having an utterly incompetent enemy commander to deal with. That thought sharpened Harry's talons as he prepared to give the next order.

_Oh Mary don't you weep no more_

_Oh Mary don't you weep no more_

_Pharaoh's Army got drown-ded_

_Oh Mary don't you weep_

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was traditionally in control of its wards, and had the authority to lower and raise them. With Professor Dumbledore gone, that authority had passed by default to the portrait of the previous Headmaster, Armando Dippet. Professor Dippet in turn had been persuaded to declare a state of military emergency by virtue of which control of the wards and the rest of Hogwarts' magic went into the hands of its highest-ranking defender, Captain Harry James Potter.

_Moses stood by the Red Sea shore_

_Smote the waters with a two-by-four_

_Pharaoh's army got drown-ded_

_Oh Mary don't you weep..._

Harry looked at the enemy army, casting their dissipation spells, then glanced at Ron. "Sixty?" he asked. Ron considered. "Or a few more," he answered. The Death Eaters sent another series of spells against the invisible wall, spells which splintered into colorful fragments then died out. Harry stood and incanted "_Deponeam Custodia" _(let the barrier go down). The Death Eaters cast "Dissipio" again, and this time the spells met no resistance. They yelled triumphantly, certain it had been their efforts which had overcome the castle's magical protection, and flew forward to crush the resistance of the students now cowering behind stone. Ron silently counted, saying to Harry "Wait, wait... now!"

"_Surgate Idem_!" Harry called, and as the barrier went up again some dozen or so Death Eaters flying towards him suddenly were flying away from him, but not on their own power. Harry had expected them to knock themselves silly against an invisible wall, but it seemed more as if they had been grasped by invisible giant hands and flung away with titanic force; unable to stay on their brooms, they tumbled end over end and disappeared into the distance somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. Their panicked shouts caused the first invaders to look back and slow down, not yet certain exactly what had happened but clear enough that it boded some sort of trap. A few tried to retreat, but when they met the other face of the ward they found themselves slowed and then held motionless as if stuck in fast-flowing amber. Their comrades inside the wards flew about indecisively for a second, then heard the order to go forward and attack the walls screamed out by their commander on the other side.

_Bellatrix. _She wasn't too far, he could fly down and...

"_Keep your mind on the plan, Harry_!" Ron shouted, and Harry snapped back to attention. The Death Eaters inside the wards were casting _Reducto_ at the walls defending the students, and those walls -- though still holding firm -- were starting to murmur in complaint. The students took aim and started sending the turbulence spells which had worked so well in the first battle, but the enemy (starting as they did with higher speed, and with more room to maneuver than they had earlier) were better able to evade these. Still, two were knocked off, and three more were Stupefied when they approached the walls to cast their reductor spells and took too long to turn around. But it looked like a near-run thing, whether the students could down the fliers before they did significant damage to the castle, so Ron requested that Harry perform the third spell on the wards.

"_Minimus!"_ Harry called, and the wards shrunk dramatically until only yards separated them from the castle itself. Two dozen more Death Eaters were caught in amber, and the rest hastily flew back towards the castle, looking over their shoulders at the invisible opponent approaching them. Now they were packed in close to the walls, close enough perhaps to destroy them with their spells if they could coordinate them, but they never got the chance; at that range, and with hardly any room to retreat or maneuver, it scarcely mattered what spells the student used, Stupefy, Impedimenta, or Ventus, anything would hit, and any hit would disable. In seconds, every Death Eater who wasn't mounted on the invisible moth cloth was down on the ground, unconscious or worse. The Counting charm gave the toll as sixty three.

That left about fifty Death Eaters hovering outside, plus a dozen more who were probably dead in the Forbidden Forest either from the impact of the crash or the attentions of the fauna, but who couldn't be counted out with certainty. They couldn't risk manipulating the wards again: too many such spells too close together might damage them irreparably. So the officers looked at one another, each silently considering: _stay in, or go out and attack?_ Then they heard Bellatrix screaming:

"Potter, you think you can stay in there forever? You think hiding behind walls and wards makes you a _fighter_, you mudblood bitch's bastard? I'll tell you what I've just decided, little boy; for every _day_ you make us wait for you, I'm going to add a long, hard _Crucio_ for every one of the other little boys and girls you brag that you're protecting, once we drag you out of your hole and take this school. Every day, two hundred extra _Crucio_s, you think I won't? Let the kiddies know what it feels like, you owe them that much, don't you, _Captain_?" And the radio sang:

_Well, old Mr. Satan he got mad, _

_Missed that soul that he thought he had_

_Pharaoh's army get drownded_

_O Mary, don't you weep_ ...

Everyone looked to Harry. Struggling to hold in his rage, he shook his head and declared:

"We don't let a fight end like that. We don't let anybody come flying in here, threaten our students, and just... fly away preening her feathers. Either we shut her up, here," Harry demanded, "or we send her back shrieking."

The officers nodded, and at the signal the Army of the Forbidden Forest took to their brooms to mount a follow-on attack.

The general tactics for the A.F.F. remained constant: stay on top, literally; look for opportunities to cut off small groups of enemy fliers and set up five-on-two or seven-on-three contests. And so, like a dog pack snatching the prey from the grasp of a lion pride, the students sniped, and snapped, and taunted, and feinted, until Alphonse Nichols and Daisy Furuncle were separated from their allies and brought to the ground by Hannah Abbott, Ernie MacMillan, Hull Huntington, Ross Doylan and Cole Kerry. Then it was Dean Thomas, Parvati Patil, Maureen Knight and Cassie Robinson who snatched and bound Allegra Blackburn and Abel Kilroy.

But the Death Eaters were more disciplined now, and such opportunities were few, so the squads had to fall back on their practiced sequences when forced into an even-up fight. In one such sequence, squads would use a type of spell almost never taught and even more scarcely used, which had been researched by Hermione. It was called a "blanket" spell, and as the name suggested, it covered a wide area so it could strike several of the enemy without needing careful aim. The reason such a miracle spell was thought worthless was that the area covered had to include that occupied by the spell-casters themselves and all allies near them. A "blanket" _Stupefy_, therefore, cast with enough power, would _probably_ stun an opponent five yards away, but would _certainly_ knock out the hexer.

For this occasion, Ron had asked the fliers with Seeker experience to form a special squad for a new tactic. Harry, Ginny, Zacharias and Su Li were one such squad, and when they saw Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Firoza Newland and Ann Belaurus pressed by the superior power of Death Eaters Gerald van Haven, Felice Harrington-Smythe, and Francis and Geoffrey Coldwater, the seekers approached the fray. At a signal from Terry, he and his squadmates each incanted the blanket version of _Expelliarmus!_, and eight wands flew away out of _Accio_ range. The Seekers flashed after their comrades' wands as they fluttered downward and snitched all four. The squad of Justin Finch-Fletchey, Anne Fairleigh, Emma Bumgardner and Marty Gudgeon took up the pursuit of the wandless Death Eaters and soon had them stunned and bound. Meanwhile the Seeker squad flew back towards Terry's group, and saw them being harried by another group of Death Eaters hoping to scavenge a quick victory. Harry, Ginny and Zacharias intercepted and delayed the attackers while Su Li quickly restored her comrades' wands, and within seconds, instead of facing four wandless foes the four Death Eaters were up against eight armed flyers. These four, also, were soon in the bag.

Then Padma Patil, Sally Ann Perkes, Liam Quirke and Orion Pierson met Rodney Jeffries, Eric Jameson, Dmitri Topanov and Sacha Tsarnikov in another dogfight. The Death Eaters struck first, and Liam was wounded across the torso by Topanov's cutting curse while Sally Ann, struck full-on by Jeffries's _Confundus, _was about to walk down off her broom mid-air; luckily, Orion reversed the hex in time. Regrouping, Padma signaled her squad to cast its own blanket spell: "_Umbram!_" A field of darkness swallowed all eight combatants. While the four students went upward and away from one another in a practiced blind maneuver, two of the the Death Eaters panicked: Tsarnikov was so anxious not to blindly pilot his broom into the ground that he overcompensated, pulled up too sharply and was carried by his own momentum backwards off his broomstick, to plummet to his death; Jameson, not wanting to swerve into Jeffries (who was close to his left) swerved as sharply right as he could and instead blundered directly into Topanov. The Russian was knocked off his broom, while Jameson hung on. When the darkness lifted, though, he was too dazed to fight and fell quickly to a concerted attack by the four students. Jeffries, now alone against four, soon followed.

Now another squad, led by Susan Bones, performed the blanket "Expelliarmus" against their pursuers, and once again the Seeker squad dove after the wands. Harry dove after the one belonging to Justin and was drawing a quick bead on it when the wand was literally swept away in another direction by a broomstick in full flight. Harry had to perform an instant reversal and a full-speed dive before seizing the wand mere meters from the ground. When he pulled up, Harry could see enemy flyers breaking away from their dogfights to point and yell in his direction. The Phoenix masks were designed to keep identities hidden, but that dive had unmasked him: it was clear to the Death Eaters that there was only one young wizard at Hogwarts who could have pulled it off.

Now the whole battle seemed to pause and pivot in a new direction: the Death Eaters en masse took off after Harry, with Bellatrix leading the pursuit. There was a strategy in place for such a turn of events: as Harry fled pursuit, the other squads were to take up two long lines, and Harry would then lead his pursuers back directly through the gauntlet created by those lines. It was a strategy which required that Harry execute precise flying under the guise of panicked flight, and that in turn required intense concentration.

"Ohhh, Potter, I know what you were thinking; _one last piece of showing off won't kill me, will it?_ And now you know it will, yes it will!Come on, Potter, I know what's next, you're going to put on a high squeaky voice and say _I'm not Potter, I'm Ginny Weasley, please don't kill me, I'm pregnant, Potter thinks it's his!... _ we'll cut her open lengthwise and make sure she's not producing any heirs..."

Twice Harry pulled himself back from turning back and doing his best to spear Lestrange through her foul throat. He made his turn far too wide, leading the pursuit not between the lanes of the gauntlet but off to the east of both lanes, so that only half the students were anywhere near enough to cast their hexes. Six more Death Eaters were struck, but virtually all of them would have been easy targets if Harry had been able to keep his head, and he knew it. The thought added even more fuel to his fury, and with Bellatrix still after him, still ten lengths behind and never a bit closer than she had been the moment she started the chase, Harry threw his head up at the sun behind him and pulled the Firebolt into the tightest, most reckless backwards loop he had ever attempted. He finished the loop only meters behind Lestrange and gaining fast. He never thought of using his wand, and never even consciously thought of performing the partial Animagus transformation; it just poured down.

Bellatrix looked back and saw something in a Phoenix mask astride a broom coming at her with foot-long talons outstretched. She opened her mouth to cry out her shock, twisted down and to the right, then screamed out her pain as the two clawed feet gouged the flesh out of her left shoulder, where her face had been an instant before. She held desperately to her broom with her one good arm, passing out from the pain and bleeding out rapidly, but as the Potter-raptor readied another dive he heard the signal to return. The raptor wanted to finish its kill, and made the beginning of an attack, when the signal came again. With that, Harry pulled himself together, and flew back in the direction of the signal.

The Death Eaters had retreated, leaving many of their wounded behind, but the A.F.F. had its own casualties. Ruth Pelta and Tony Perugia were both hexed badly, but conscious. Ernie Macmillan wasn't moving. The three were immobilized and levitated quickly in to the castle. Harry didn't want to ask how they had been injured or when, didn't want to know whether it had anything to do with his own loss of control.

The five officers (Ginny of course being inside with Madame Pomfrey) waited together outside the hospital wing. Silence ruled for the first few minutes until Hermione said, "I wonder why it was only Madame Pomfrey who wasn't affected by the homesickness spell."

"Lucky for us she wasn't," Ron said.

"Actually in this case I wouldn't credit Luck," Luna suggested, looking apologetically at Harry as if she regretted disrespecting his personal magical guardian. "I think it was Hogwarts' choice. Perhaps she only had the power to call one of the staff back, and took the one who was most needed."

Nobody tried to dispute this, and the silence returned. Neville took a glance at Harry, then looked down. Then he repeated the motion, and Harry raised his eyes to Neville's in query. Finally Neville cleared his throat and asked:

"What happened out there, Harry?"

Ron ("Come on, mate, you expect him to be perfect?") and Hermione ("Neville, do you think this is the right time?") both jumped in to quash the questioning, but Neville waved them off and persisted. "You aren't the only one who wanted to tear that witch's face off, Harry. I was in my position, though. You were about half a kilometer out of yours. What were you thinking?" After a moment, Harry replied:

"I wasn't. I'm sorry."

That seemed to end the discussion. After a while, Ginny came out to report that Ruth and Tony were OK, but Ernie was still critical after an uncushioned fall. She went back in to the Hospital Wing and the others sat and waited some more. Ron reported seven more Death Eaters were confirmed dead, twelve (the ones flung into the Forbidden Forest) were missing and probably dead, and seventy more had been captured, meaning thirty or so had gotten away.

As Ron was making suggestions for the next defense or counter, Harry suddenly found his mind under attack; a series of images raced before his eyes, on and on, crowding out all the sights and sounds of the world around him. Before he even had time to start putting up mental defenses, though, before he had time to do much more than bring a hand up to his forehead, the attack was over. The sudden gesture, though, was enough to bring his friends up around him, asking if he was OK. As Harry was waving them back to their seats, Ginny came back out into the waiting room, and Harry knew what she was going to say.

"We couldn't save Ernie. He's gone." First Ron, then Hermione, then Harry went to put an arm around Ginny, who was pale and shaking. "I'm OK," she insisted, though she accepted comforting gestures from the trio and from Luna and Neville. "It's your first," Luna said, "you can't really be prepared for it." The six took a silent moment to remember their friend -- _Brother,_ Harry corrected himself, _Comes Contectum_, and that of course brought back the thought of Ernie pledging continued brotherhood to the ghosts of the Belford twins, a memory which Harry now experienced both from the magically enhanced perspective which came from his birthday wish, and from Ernie's perspective, which came from...

Harry recognized now what all the images were: they were echoes of Ernie's memories, thrust upon him as if he had been taking huge Pensieve injections direct into the brain. He didn't know why, though, and he desperately wanted to, so he overcame his reluctance to reveal yet another oddity about Boy-who-lived-Parseltongue-Chosen-One Harry Potter and let his friends know what had just happened.

"What do you remem-- what did you see?" Ron asked.

"The first thing I remember is Ernie's first accidental magic; he was about six, at some family gathering, and one of his little cousins, four or so, kept crying for more cake."

"So he Silenced the kid?"

"No, he levitated a piece to him."

The friends seemed to smile simultaneously with the same thought: _a Hufflepuff from the start._

"He's probably here, at Hogwarts -- the cousin, I mean," Hermione said. "You could check to see whether it's a true memory."

"But why did this happen?" Neville asked.

"I think it has something to do with the pledge we took," Ginny suggested. "The promise that we wouldn't let anybody be forgotten."

"Yes, that makes sense," said Hermione. "But then, why isn't this... parting gift being shared with everybody? Why just Harry?"

"Harry is our standard-bearer," Neville pointed out, and Harry wasn't completely sure there wasn't an implicit reproach there for not keeping up the standard.

"Not just that," Luna added, and turned to address Harry directly. "You're the one who _has_ to survive, if this fight is to be won. So you're the natural choice of Magic to carry the memories of everybody else."

Harry desperately wanted to reject this idea, with its implication that he might be doomed to wander the world as the lone survivor of the great magical war, doing the full body bind on passersby to force them to listen to his tale and take in his memories of all the friends he had lost. It was an unbearable thought, and that made it seem like probable truth.

"We should have a memorial service tomorrow," Hermione reminded the group. "And Harry, you'll speak. This is something you've been given to carry, but I think it really belongs to all of us. Sharing the memories will help us all through this."

The next day Ernie MacMillan was buried near the Herbology shed where his head of house had taught for so many years, and the student body heard eulogies from those who knew him best. Harry overcame his strong qualms about the presumptuousness of placing himself in that class by virtue of a magical fluke, and explained to the listeners how he had come to possess so much knowledge of so many intimate moments. The gasps of awe from many students brought those qualms back in force, but as Harry told some of the more humorous episodes from Ernie's life (such as the one about the levitating cake) the looks of reverence gave way. Harry then turned the platform over to Justin Finch-Fletchey.

"The first time I really heard Ernie being Ernie, was five years ago -- Harry is looking away, I think he knows what's coming -- when the heir of Slytherin opened the chamber of secrets. Well, as we all know, Ernie was de--... was completely wrong about who the heir was, but I remember how he tried his best to stand between me and Harry, who he thought was coming after me. And of course I was thinking, 'go get him, Ernie, you teach that evil wizard a lesson, I'll be your witness if he does anything dark'."

A roll of appreciative chuckles came from the crowd, and Justin continued.

"Ernie was a great admirer of Cedric Diggory, and in the Triwizard Tournament he was sure that Cedric was going to bring back the trophy for Hogwarts and for Hufflepuff. And Cedric wound up being the first casualty, at Little Hangleton, where this war started. So I think it's fitting, that another Hufflepuff became the first casualty at Hogwarts, where this war is going to end. Our house has run last in the House Cup standings for quite a while now, but think of Cedric and Ernie and remember that when the games and quizzes are over, and the real test comes, _the last shall be first_."

For the next two weeks, no further threats appeared. Fred and George reported that Death Eaters were still periodically marching through Hogsmeade, but in smaller numbers, and without Lucius Malfoy. Stories had come from witches and wizards there (who had heard from someone who had heard from the barmen who had heard from low-ranking Dark enforcers who had come in for a firewhiskey or five) that the Dark Lord had literally eviscerated his servant, but restored his organs to him barely in time to keep him alive. Bella was rumored to have lost her left arm, and to have had it replaced either with a seal's flipper, which had to be watered every hour or it would dry up and fall off, or with a serpent who acted as Voldemort's messenger to her, constantly hissing reminders to her of her failure, and occasionally paralyzing her with a bite.

But there was still no news from or about the rest of the Weasleys or anybody else's families, or about the fate of Dumbledore, the teachers, the Order, or the Ministry. Fred and George had risked an apparation into the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, and had made their way towards the Burrow in disillusioned state. To escape the effects of the homesickness spell they had worked their magic on another Slinky, connected one end to each brother, and then had taken turns going on ahead; that way, if Forge suddenly tried to run or apparate into the Burrow under the spell's influence, Gred (who had stayed behind out of range of the spell) would be able to snap him back. But instead of feeling the pull of home, they found themselves walking in circles, unable to approach the Burrow. The same had happened when they tried to spy out the Ministry and Order headquarters. This occasioned a great deal of learned debate about magical theory among the portraits, but no clear answers emerged. It was agreed that attempting to raise a resistance or adopt guerrilla tactics in Hogsmeade would not accomplish enough at this point, but the twins were to seek potential allies for a time when it would.

As the lull went on, partnerships were solidifying among the post-pubescent students, and a few young witches and one or two young wizards made their hopes known to Harry. He did his best without making a public announcement to spread the message that he was not open to any relationship until the fight was over. Naturally this brought the follow-up question "and then...?" Harry saw an opportunity, and told each of them that there was already someone, and that they probably knew already who she was. Their embarrassed looks showed that they did, and Harry placed his trust that the Hogwarts rumor mill would pass this 'declaration' around until it got back to Ginny herself. _At least she'll know I'm thinking of her_, Harry hoped, and at that thought he heard quite vividly a clucking _tch-tch _from his parents rebuking his cowardice.

When the next assault finally came, it was not the radio that first announced it; a student looking out her dorm window saw some strange, shambling lumps pushing aside the trees. It took her a moment to register that these were crudely man-shaped, and a moment after that to realize that giants had come against Hogwarts. Soon the alert was sounded, and omnioculars showed some puny humans popping in and out from behind the legs of the giants. The thirty or so Death Eaters were approaching the wards leisurely, interspersed for their own protection among their allies, who numbered close to fifty. From the distance of Hogwarts, even in the omnioculars, it looked like a set of thin little toy wizards had gotten mixed together somehow with a different brand's set of large but cruder figurines. The enemy arrived in range and the dark wizards began casting their dissipation spells.

The officers gathered, seeking a way around their dilemma. To wait behind the wards would make their destruction inevitable; to try driving the dark wizards away would mean confronting the giants. Though no one looked forward to that, it seemed in the end the only choice. So, for the third time, the Army of the Forbidden Forest went out to challenge the dark. The radio declared,

_What tho' on homely fare we dine, wear hodden gray and a' that_

_Gie fools their silk and knaves their wine, a man's a man for a' that_

_For a' that and a' that, their tinsel show and a' that_

_The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor is king o' men for a' that_

_Ye see yon birkie called a lord, who struts and stares and a' that_

_T'ho' hundreds worship at his word, he's but a cuif for a' that_

_For a' that and a' that, his ribband star and a' that_

_The man of independent mind, he looks and laughs at a' that_

_Then let us pray that come it may, as come it will for a' that_

_That sense and worth o' er a' the earth shall win the fight for a' that_

_For a' that, for a' that, it's comin' yet for a' that_

_That man to man the world o' er shall brothers be for a' that_ !

The students flew up, passed the wards and sighted their enemy beneath; commanding the Death Eaters now was Macnair, the former executioner. First the army of Hogwarts sent down their storm of boulders, but the giants caught most of them on the shields they carried, and Macnair could be heard cooing to the giants, "you see how strong these good weapons are that we made for you!" Another pass by the A.F.F. had minimal results again, and this time the Death Eaters, confident they were covered, took aim themselves and retaliated. Two students were unseated, but saved by levitation and cushioning charms from their squadmates.

The Army of the Forbidden Forest tried now to single out giants for magical attack. They were too tough for any one or two wizards to take one down with even their strongest spells, so Ron sent two squads at a time over giants on the wings of the enemy formation. Their combined Stupefy spells brought two crashing down, to the cheers of the flyers, but it took only a few seconds for the dark wizards to revive them. On the next attack, slicing and severing curses brought down four giants and a quick follow up brought down the wizards who attempted to come to their aid. But many more dark wizards were left to put up magical protection shields, allowing time to heal their comrades. With the giants protected against magical attack by the wizards, and the wizards protected against physical attack by the giants, the Hogwarts army was stymied.

Macnair then spared four of the wizards and four of the giants from defense and ordered them on the offensive. With the impunity given them by the double shield, the wizards hurled curses, and the giants hurled back the boulders which had bounced off their shields earlier. Most were dodged, but while Sarah Murphy, 6th-year Gryffindor, was rolling out of the way of a reductor curse, a boulder came on her blind side and hit her full. She was quickly taken back to Hogwarts and Madame Pomfrey, but nobody who saw the impact held out much hope. The students ran a few more attacks but they had almost no results, and the counters were becoming more and more difficult to escape. _This is getting us nowhere, _Harry thought, and after a quick exchange of glances with Ron, he gave the signal to return to the castle. For the first time, the Army of the Forbidden Forest had retreated with the enemy still on the field.

Harry flew back with the others behind the wards, not really hearing the Death Eater taunts or understanding those of the giants. Halfway back to the castle he almost fell from his broom, startled by the irresistible invasion of his mind by scenes from a young girl's life. The girl grew with inconceivable speed into a pre-teen, then an adolescent, then a fighter in an army confronting the forces of Lord Voldemort. Of the blow that caused her death she had no awareness and thus no memory. But Harry did.


	7. Harpstrings into Hippogriffs

**A/N: **_In this chapter, hjdevnul will be pleased to see, Hermione starts breaking out the heavy brainpower. :)_

_I realize that I have given an extremely caricatured picture of Irish song, and can only throw myself on the mercy of the Celtic gods and goddesses. The slaughter of Suvla Bay, part of the battle of Gallipoli, is the subject of the song "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda"; for lyrics to that, to "Bold Robert Emmet" and dozens of other folk classics, see the website m [dot nu [slash eirinn [slash ceol. Thanks for charmingly-holly for the kind words on the use of music in this story._

**vii. Harpstrings into Hippogriffs**

Back inside the safety of Hogwarts' walls and wards, the students (both fighters and 'civilians') seemed unsure how to take their first defeat. Was it a temporary setback which their leaders (especially the invincible Harry Potter) would find a way to reverse? Or was this the moment when they stopped enjoying the bolts of luck which sometimes came to fools and children, the thirty-point streaks which gave false hope to Chudley Cannons fans, and reality caught up with them?

Harry himself, meanwhile, sought out Ginny to offer his consolations on the loss of her friend. He was half dreading the talk, and not just because of the sorrow of the occasion. As her memories transferred in death had told him, Sarah had been a confidante to Ginny, one with whom Ginny shared intimate details of both her real life and her fantasy life. All those confidences--so many of course involving Harry himself--were now breached, a fact Ginny had to be conscious of. _So if I don't say anything about it, _Harry thought to himself, _it looks like I'm ignoring her feelings. If I say something, it looks like I'm taunting her about them... _

After the opening conventions of such conversations had been honored, Harry tried to fumble towards some third way.

"I wish I'd known Sarah better. I never knew you were such good friends."

"She was-- oh, you know what she was like, now."

"Not from your point of view."

Ginny nodded. "She was the one who showed me how to make that singing card; she made one for all of our birthdays, in the dorm, and I was so impressed I begged her to teach me, and she seemed so grateful at my being impressed and asking for help."

"She was, she thought it was like some kind of validation that she belonged at Hogwarts. She wrote back to her mother--" Harry stopped, not knowing how much would be a violation of the dead girl's privacy, or her mother's... _Would they ever get a chance to see her mother?_

Ginny was lost in memory for a moment, after which she burst out in a mix of sobs and giggles. "I was just thinking," she said, "of your reaction to some of those conversations." Harry blushed and cringed, which caused Ginny to laugh and point at him triumphantly and declare, "Yes, exactly! You never imagined that thirteen-year-old girls could be so... frank, did you?"

"Had no idea."

The reminiscing continued, and Harry reminded himself not to append an "I know" to every statement Ginny made about her friend. It was late at night before they parted, and Harry couldn't help wondering what Sarah and Ginny would be saying to each other now under happier circumstances.

--------

For three days, the students of Hogwarts tried to arrive at a strategy for pushing back their besiegers. As they debated alternatives, the wards were being steadily weakened, and the officers were forced to draw them in closer and closer to the castle so they would hold strong in this smaller but less attenuated form. The students still needed and held the vegetable field, but the Death Eaters were now in possession of the Quidditch Pitch, Hagrid's cabin, the Whomping Willow, and the Hogwarts Express station. When the enemy moved into the area around the cabin, they discovered the grave of Ernie Macmillan. Students looked on from Hogwarts' towers as the marker was pointed at by laughing Death Eaters, who then called up to their Giant allies. After some repeated prompting and gesturing from Macnair, one Giant reached down with one hand, punctured the surface of the gravesite as easily as a man would punch through wrapping paper, and brought his arm back up with a fistful of soil and a limp human body. There were more instructions from the small masked figures, who then gestured and shouted towards the students, clearly calling on them to watch what would happen next. They did watch, helpless, as one Giant tossed Ernie's body to another, who swatted it towards a third, who punched it away towards a fourth... After that some students were cursing, some were crying, but nobody was watching anymore.

Hermione, however, had watched long enough to see how loth the Giants were to take any quick steps, even when it would have been useful in their "game," and how carefully they looked down before planting their feet on some unseen, untrodden ground. She knew that with the advantages of superhuman size and weight came a corresponding burden on their platform of support, making the Giants' feet their weakest and most sensitive parts. She knew as well that the Giants walked on sandals in the native lands, and regarded human shoes ("foot-cages," they called them) as one of the confinements of an alien civilization. But now, she saw, they were wearing the despised full-cover, ankle-high boots, no doubt at the urging of the Death Eaters who feared attack on their allies' weakness. The beginning of a plan occurred to her, and by the end of that night, she had fleshed it out. Neville's contribution, involving simple botany for the most part, made up the key material part of it. The Army of the Forbidden Forest received orders to be up and ready by dawn.

The first wave went out. For the first time, they did not take the heights, but came skimming rapidly over the grass before the Giants or wizards could react. This group cast no spell, but dropped vials of potion onto the ground. Blades of grass quickly began to go through their life cycle at hundreds of times normal speed: growth, seed dispersal and death. The enemy looked more puzzled than alarmed at this development, some scoffing out loud about "killer grass." But soon the Giants were shaking and stamping their feet, and some of the wizards and witches started in too. The seeds of the grass were finding their way into the smallest niches of their shoes, and the potion not only forced them to grow faster, it drove them to grow desperately on the water and nutrients of their new hosts. Soon the enemy was howling as dozens of blades rooted themselves in the flesh of their feet, died, and turned to sharp little sticks, but not before beginning this life cycle again.

For the humans it was painful, for the Giants it was agonizing. As the Giants dropped their shields and stomped their feet to kill or dislodge the invaders, and as some of the Death Eaters attempted spells to stop the grass attack, all were left vulnerable to the next wave of attackers. A dozen or more of the witches and wizards were felled by the stone bombardment while the Giants tore off their shoes in a frenzy to scratch off the tormenting grass. Some of the Death Eaters managed to kill the grass attackers on themselves or on nearby Giants with a local antibiotic spell, but forgot that wouldn't prevent the grass around them from infiltrating again. Now giants were running about chaotically, chased around by their wand-wielding allies attempting to rid them of the vegetative pestilence, leaving gaps once again for the students to exploit.

Macnair finally urged his fellows to defoliate the whole region, but by this time the Giants had all torn off their shoes, and any Death Eater foolish enough to try to stop them received a blow or kick from an angry Giant's fist or leg. The dark allies began angrily threatening one another, never a good move on a battlefield and one that now cost some their lives; the Army of the Forbidden Forest was holding nothing back now on offensive spells. Macnair finally rallied his diminished forces into a fighting formation on their now-bare ground, but the destruction of the grass had a side effect: it left hundreds of snakes out in the open and very upset at their sudden loss of cover. There was only one hominid on that field who could speak to the serpents' grievance, and offer them an object for retribution:

"_Wise Ones_," Harry Potter hissed. "_Wise Ones, know your enemy! There are the invaders, there are the destroyers of your second clothes, the friends of the running rats: the Large Ones! Drive them off and reclaim your land!_"

Most of the Death Eaters stood frozen in terror on hearing that language, whose meaning they knew nothing of but whose sounds they had so often heard produced by their Lord in preparation for some act of torture. The Giants had no such conditioned fear of Parseltongue, but even they had to be taken aback by its results, the angry, sinuous wave that advanced upon them from all directions. The snakes were upon them soon in too great numbers for wizard spells to counter, and they bore in on the meaty toes of the Large Ones. Venomous or not, dozens of fangs piercing their tenderest spots overwhelmed the Giants' pain tolerance, and the Hogwarts students felt as if they would be knocked down by the force of their foes' screams. Soon the Giants were in full flight, and any Death Eater trying to restrain them was backhanded into the ground, some to be swallowed up by the flowing serpentine carpet.

Left unshielded and grounded -- brooms had been left behind, since flying would have taken them out of the protection of their Giant guard -- the remaining Death Eaters surrendered. They knew what had happened to the first battalion caught on the ground against the A.F.F., and had no wish to suffer any more of that. They also feared what Voldemort might do to a third set of failures, more than they feared what Hogwarts students would do to prisoners of war. For some Death Eaters, at least, this faith in their enemies' decency wasn't a foregone conclusion. Macnair especially, for his role in desecrating Ernie's body, was the object of debate.

"Macnair," Ron spat, "doesn't get to sleep off the rest of the war." He suggested having him tied to the body of one of his dead comrades, which brought outraged protest from Hermione that they would be guilty then of the same crime they were punishing. "Hermione," Ginny asked, "are we supposed to be the ones upholding the rules of war or not? If we are, then it's up to us to make sure the bastard doesn't get away with violating them. If we don't do that, then what's the point of saying there _are _rules?"

Harry wasn't sure he knew what the point was either way. If both sides had agreed beforehand to follow the Geneva conventions, and if somebody was inspecting to make sure they were carried out, that would be one thing, but obviously this wasn't happening.

"They surrendered to us," Neville argued, "because they knew we would give them fair treatment. If we violate that ---"

"What do you mean, 'violate'?" Ron asked. "We never made them a promise."

"But we would have," Luna replied, "if we'd had the opportunity. So really, it would be going back on our word if we started using sadistic punishments."

"But we never gave the word!" Ron insisted.

"Still, if they didn't know that we were the kind of people who would have given the word, they wouldn't have surrendered," Luna said.

"So will going back on the pledge we didn't give cause them to un-surrender?" Ron pleaded.

"Don't be silly, Ronald. It will make us untrustworthy, and if we're untrustworthy, we can't expect to be trusted."

"But they won't know whether we're untrustworthy--"

"They do know, because they know what kind of people we are."

"But then -- if -- that means we _couldn't_ act differently _because_ they -- what I mean is--"

"You sound confused, Ronald. I don't see the problem."

On one level, Harry was entirely in sympathy with Ron's confusion. What Luna was arguing made no sense in terms of cause-and-effect, reward-and-punishment type reasoning. But he thought that if there was such a thing as magical reasoning, there might be worse guides to it than Luna Lovegood. In the end, the vote broke four to two against Ron's proposal, though the officers assured the students, especially the angry Hufflepuffs, that Macnair would face some form of trial and punishment from all of them before the siege was over.

----------

A week, two weeks, passed. Attempts were started to make Hogwarts more of a place to live rather than just a barracks and training camp: the students were resigned to the idea that this would be their home for the foreseeable future. Seating arrangements for meals now took no account of houses. At one breakfast Seamus glanced towards one of the dormant radios, and noted:

"We've had Welsh, American, and Scottish music. So you know what's supposed to come on the next time, don't you?"

"Canadian?" Susan suggested.

"Australian!" Mandy voted.

"Indian!" "Bahamian!" "Manx!"...

"No, you clods, it's time for something Irish!"

Dean groaned. "Please, God, no."

Seamus turned to his friend in surprise. "What the hell's the matter, you liked Gaelic music just fine when you visited our home, and Da got out his old LPs--"

"Yeah, what was the title of those LPs, 'Music To Weep Into Your Beer By'? It was bloody depressing. The minstrel boy gets killed--"

"That wasn't the point of the song, the point was that 'The foeman's chains could not keep that proud soul under'!"

"And the girl tells her boy to come visit her grave because she'll be dead next time he comes back--"

"That's right, 'And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me, And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be'. What kind of heartless fecking son of a bitch isn't touched by that?"

"Oh, you want 'touching,' here's a really touching one:

_How well I remember that terrible day_

_When our blood stained the sand and the water_

_And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay_

_We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter!_

I'm sure looking forward to going out to fight with _that_ ringing in my ears!"

"We don't forget our history, Thomas!"

"Right, I'll give you that, Finnegan, that LP must have sung about every defeat in Irish history. How about:

_The struggle is over, the boys are defeated_

_Old Ireland's surrounded with sadness and gloom_

_We were defeated and shamefully treated_

_And I, Robert Emmet, awaiting my doom_

_Hung, drawn and quartered, sure that was my sentence--"_

" '_But soon I will show them no coward am I_'," Seamus roared. "'_My crime is my love of the land I was born in, A hero I lived and a hero I'll die'! _A hero!"

"Hung, drawn and quartered!"

"A hero!"

"You have to admit, Seamus," Anthony interrupted, "there aren't many armies which would play that song before a battle."

"And the way -- it's pretty uncanny," Hannah said, "how the radio keeps bringing us these rallying tunes, I'd really hate to get down here and find it playing... you know, something like..."

"Chopin's funeral march?" Padma offered.

"I'm but a Stranger here, Heaven is my Home?"

"Soon we'll be Done with the Trouble of the World?"

The nervous giggles were turning into cackles and screeches. The contagion spread with each new suggestion, until the hall seemed to settle on one song, with almost all the Army (even Seamus) joining in:

"_Who waaaants to liiiiiiive foreeeeeever?_

_Who WAAAANTS to LIIIIIVE forEEverrrrrr?--_"

Then suddenly a single voice was heard piercing through the chorus of a hundred, crying "stop it, STOP IT, _STOP IT_!" The students seemed to sober immediately, and turned to see Hermione with her hands covering her face, barely controlling her shaking. Ron came over to try to comfort her, but since he had just been taking part in the singing, Hermione angrily shrugged him off. It was days before Ron and Hermione were back to normal as a couple, and black humor aficionados were put off their game for some time after that. During wartime, though, there would always be an underground market (at the least) for their services.

----------

On October 18 the dragons came. The scouts at Gryffindor Tower reported twenty four approaching, including at least eight Hungarian Horntails. The Death Eaters riding the dragons were accompanied by twelve more on broomstick; these, obviously, were the ward-breakers, and the dragons were there first to guard them until they could open Hogwarts to attack, and then to attack the castle itself. A single trained dragon was more than capable of bringing down a wall; two dozen could destroy a castle and all its inhabitants. There was no way of knowing with certainty who the leader was, but the presumption was that it was the man MacGregor had always spoken of as Voldemort's dragonmaster, Antonin Doholov. The radio had no songs at all the for students this time; a news broadcast was on instead.

"_For the eighth consecutive day, government offices in Britain came under attack from unidentified forces using unidentified weapons, leaving more than three hundred dead. The Prime Minister continues to insist that the government knows the source and nature of the attacks, and is capable of defending the country, but refuses to issue any details..."_

The student army flew off. Harry was its only member with any experience confronting dragons, and his task had been essentially one of escape. The strategy group had already considered tactics based on Krum's partial success in the Triwizard Tournament: attacking the eyes. As in the fight against the Giants, the A.F.F. was resting its hopes on the ability to bring down a more powerful foe by focusing on its weakest spot. The fliers knew the drill: first, flank the dragons, so two or more squads could isolate the ones on the edge; one squad produces anti-fire shields, the other attacks with hexes to sting and blind.

The strategy never had a chance. The Death Eaters had learned not to leave themselves vulnerable by stringing themselves out in a line and leaving the furthest ends vulnerable to sniping; they advanced in an oval, which allowed those not being attacked to burn the attackers terribly if they approached. The dark forces had enough firepower in reserve to leave two or three dragons free to make terrible dives against any squads which tried to do damage, scattering the students like pigeons. Students' attempts to cast spells against dragons in full flight were utter failures. The size and speed of the creatures were terrible things merely to see, and to fight against such force quickly came to seem like hubris. If you see a plane in flight from the ground, you may say you know its size and speed, but it still seems like nothing more than a long balloon floating calmly past; but if you could hover on broomstick as a jet passed close, seeing that thing the size of a building run through the air faster than the eye could follow it... you would be lost, shocked into stupor.

That was how Harry felt, confounded again and again when trying to aim at something that _should_ have been a big easy target. _Ridiculous_, he thought, _ridiculous, that I can't hit something that size. _And that thought became, _ridiculous, that we're here trying to fight dragons,_ which became _ridiculous, that they expect us to do this, to hold them off, to beat them by ourselves. _Again a dive-bombing dragon forced a dozen students to break off in panic before they even made their formation._ Who are we to think we can do this? Who are you to ask this of us? _With a wrenching effort Harry pulled himself back into the present and into the fight, but a calmer mind still brought down no dragons. The rest of the student army was having no success either, but Harry and Ron quickly exchanged signals to continue, hoping that the Army would begin to get the range, get the timing. _It will come_, he told himself, _there are lots of things you think can't be done but you keep at it, you come closer and closer each time. _

But the dragons were coming closer too. None of the students had been snapped up yet, only because they had all flown off simultaneously in eight different directions when the dragon approached. The creature was therefore stymied for a moment, not knowing which way to hunt, which meal to chase, giving its prey a chance to escape. But then on one sortie, Terry Boot became too intent on lining up his chance to strike, and lingered in the air for a second after all his comrades had started away. That one second might as well have been a scent trail guiding the dragon's jaws towards him.

Far off, across the battlefield, Harry's mind was jolted by a five-year-old's exclamation of wonder as he wandlessly made his night-candle burn brightly enough to read the book ("Tales of Electricity") which the exasperated Alfred Boot had shut after the third reading before ordering his young son to bed.

For a second time, the Army of the Forbidden Forest withdrew from the field. It had never explicitly been made a rule that they would retreat after the first fatality, but some kind of spontaneous agreement was reached each time among the officers, drawn from a conviction that one death was a tragedy, more than one would be a catastrophe. Back within the wards and walls, for the third time, an impromptu wake formed itself. The mourners' circle had no real center, since there was no next of kin to act as the objects of consolation while others played the secondary role of consolers. After Ernie had died, his friends' grief had at first been mixed with a bit of panic that there were no set rules for this kind of memorial and no adults to assign them according to fixed wizarding customs. They adapted, though; the student who was sobbing the hardest one minute might be the one providing a shoulder the next.

For now, it was Anthony Goldstein who looked most in need of support; with his head down around his knees he looked like a victim of seasickness struggling against dizziness and nausea, motionless except for the cries that came surging up from his chest to shake him again and again. Terry's memories gave Harry some understanding of Anthony's grief; he could see how close they had been, the two slightly-built boys of the same age who had always been too smart for their own good, and wondered if Anthony would ever get over it, losing his best friend for close to seven years, what would happen to Harry himself if Ron... He suppressed that line of thought. Harry found himself standing near Anthony, with a number of others, mostly Ravenclaws, who were offering words and hugs, and he offered his own.

After some time, when the crying had died down somewhat, the remembrances began to be shared among those who had known Terry. As Harry listened to some and mentally noted how some details had been improved in the telling, he saw a number of the students turning towards him. Harry wasn't sure whether they were looking at Captain Potter, their commanding officer (in which case should he give some kind of pep talk?) or at the magical repository of Terry's memories (in which case he would have to say something... oracular?) or just at Harry, who was Terry's yearmate, who had taken History and Defence classes with him. It was only the last of the three Harries, though, who felt like talking now.

"Do you remember," Harry asked, "how Terry and Hermione used to keep sneaking glances at each other in History of Magic, and if one of them started drooping off, the other would start taking notes harder? It was like a couple of Muggle cyclists looking for their chance to make a breakaway, and if they sense the opponent is losing it a little suddenly the arms and legs start pumping--" and laughter burst out as Harry mimed Terry or Hermione going into an all-out, grim-faced, lung-sapping sprint of note-writing. He felt a clout on the shoulder then, and realized with some embarrassment that Hermione was standing right behind him.

"I want you to know, Potter, that I put a lot of effort into that... _bloody useless_ class," she said, loudly enough to bring cheers and raised glasses from the entire room.

"And that's just one of the things we love you so much for, Hermione," Harry responded. It started out as a jocular comeback when it first passed his lips, but it somehow didn't come out that way; Hermione's startled look bore witness to that. Harry tried to say, with a smile and a shrug, something like _Well, you know, that's how it is, not __that__ way, you understand, but still..._

----------

It was time for Hermione to pull another rabbit out of a hat (or, as the wizard saying had it, _transfigure a harpstring into a hippogriff_). After two days' intensive study of dragon anatomy, physiology, behavior and (Ron and Harry were prepared to swear) religious customs, she announced the plan.

"We can't overpower them, even at their weakest," Hermione argued. "Not without too many casualties, at any rate. If we can't fight them, we have to keep them from fighting us; essentially we have to use their own instincts, their own patterns, to modify their behavior. It's already been altered by training so that they would attack whoever their riders called on them to attack, we have to alter it again so they have a stronger motivation to do something other than attack Hogwarts students."

Harry nodded. This sounded interesting.

"So," Hermione continued, "we try to counter that conditioning, which usually depends on food reward, with something stronger."

"Sex drive," Luna suggested, and Hermione's face brightened with enthusiasm.

"Exactly, Luna! Dragon males turn on one another to fight over female dragons who are receptive, and the females stop their own activity to observe the contests."

Harry nodded again. This was sounding promising.

"Did they bring female dragons, Hermione?"

"Yes, Ginny; but this isn't the time of year for their natural cycle. There are potions which could force it, but--"

"But we can't exactly force it down their throats," Ron finished.

"Right. But there's a spell which could do the same, if we can cast them on the proper organ. The incantation is 'Fructuarius'"

Harry looked up eagerly. This sounded like it could work.

"If you look at this chart," Hermione continued, and put up a magical "slide" of female dragon anatomy, "you can see that the ovum is actually close to a natural opening; the spell wouldn't have to penetrate dragonhide, as long as the spellcaster could fly close enough--"

"Hermione, wait a minute, that 'natural opening,' you mean--"

"That's right, Ron, the anus."

"So the plan is -- one of us has to find the female dragon, fly up her arse, cast the spell to put her in heat, and then fly back and watch the fireworks go off."

"Reptiles don't go into 'heat' like mammals do, but otherwise -- yes, that's pretty much it. Of course we would have to have our best fliers going in," she said, looking at Ginny and Harry.

Harry's stopped nodding. _She's getting back at me for imitating her note-taking, _he thought for one brain-scrambled moment.

"That's just mad, Hermione," was Ron's reaction, and this drew vigorous nods from Harry, Ginny and all the portraits in the office.

"Not at all, Ron," Luna responded. "It seems to me like a very logical, well-thought-out plan." Of course this only served to confirm the others' initial impression, though Neville glared down anybody (whether two- or three-dimensional) who looked like they were going to draw that conclusion explicitly.

"Look, Hermione," Ginny said, "for this to work we have to be able to track and target a dragon, and that's exactly what we haven't been able to do in the first place."

"That's true, Ginny, but dragons are apex predators; nothing ever hunts them, so they don't feel threatened by smaller objects behind them. They won't move as quickly to get out of the way of a minor annoyance as they would in pursuing prey. They'll probably just swat at you with their tails--"

"_Just_ swat us?" Harry said. "Hermione, please don't tell me--"

"No, Harry, none of the females are Horntails. We got lucky there."

"I told you, Harry!" said Luna, "your magical luck is a useful gift for so many purposes!"

Before Harry had a chance to retort, Hermione was moving on to her next point. "There's something else that can give us an edge. The dragons had to be conditioned to avoid attacking anybody on their own side. Dragons are primarily visual hunters, so it's almost certainly visual conditioning."

The instructor paused here, to see if the students could follow her reasoning to its logical conclusion.

"The Death Eater masks and robes?" Neville suggested. Hermione smiled and nodded. "Brilliant!" Ron said, "we've sure got no shortage of those. We have to charm up some internal ID system so we don't try to spell our own side, but we can manage..."

Harry shut out the rest of the conversation, shuddering at the thought of putting that filthy thing over his face. He had an instant, vivid nightmare of the mask mocking him in Voldemort's voice as he tried to fly, blinding him, choking him; if the Death Eaters caught him, they would show him off wearing the mask, they would bury him in it... He forced himself once again to go through his exercises, to calm himself, to stay objective.

"Harry," said a familiar voice, "they're clothes. Clothes can't defile us, only our actions can."

"And if it makes you feel better," said the companion voice, "you can paint 'Bugger Voldemort!' all over the front in reappearing ink."

"James!"

"Lily, it's the same principle, if only our actions can defile us, then mere words can't."

"He's got you there, Mom."

Harry heard these words echo against a background of silence and realized that he had not completely suppressed voicing his part in this dialogue; moreover, that the others had finished their discussion of the necessary spells and had been waiting for his input or decision. He flushed a bit at the looks he was receiving from his friends, then shrugged. _Sod it. They already know I'm a few bricks shy._

"Alright," Harry said to the group. "We have approval of the plan, at the highest rank."

----------------

"Gold Team, in position," Ron called. Twelve mini-squads, in black garb with white masks, assembled. "Remember you don't need to get too close, just get the dragons spread out enough for Red Team to do their job." Twelve of the mini-squads would appear to attack the dragons following the same strategy as before, allow themselves to be chased, and then Red Team -- the superior flyers, like Ginny, Su Li and of course Harry -- would fly out and try to come in behind the dragons. If Gold Team's disguises threw off the dragons enough to allow them to do some damage to the enemy, that was a bonus, but their primary purpose, to put it bluntly, was bait. Ron gave the signal for Gold Team, and the forty-eight young witches and wizards were off.

Harry and the other members of Red Team held their brooms, waiting behind their own masks for their signal to go out. Harry saw one fellow Death Eater approach and pass behind him, then felt a shocking pinch which brought him turning around to face his harasser.

"Just checking my property, Potter."

"Ah. Err, OK, I guess. But you know, pinching men in disguise... what if it wasn't me?"

"That thing isn't going to hide you from me, Harry. _I know it's still you underneath._"

Harry was sure the emphasis he heard in those last words were not just his imagination, and felt a burst of happy amazement at the way Ginny could speak so exactly to his fears of the moment like this.

"Well. That's a pretty... nice thought. Reassuring, you know."

"I figured it might be."

The battle was joined, and Gold Team at first found the disguises succeeding beyond their hopes. A few of the dragons responded to the urging of their handlers and immediately attacked the false Death Eaters, but not with same devastating ferocity they had shown the other day. The majority made only halting and indecisive movements as the students flew casually towards them like friends floating over to say hello on the weekend pitch. And two of the great beasts remained so placid, despite the kicks, screams and spells from their masters, that the students were able to surround, stun and bind the dragonriders, then lift them out to be levitated off to the Hogwarts dungeons. The two now-riderless Horntails hung bemused in the air for a few seconds, then detached themselves from the battle and were off to Central Europe.

Now Red Team entered the fray. The students from Gold Team -- at least those who had been able to approach close enough to the dragons -- had already cast a gender-revealing spell and showered permanent magical highlights on the females. Harry's group spotted one female Ironbelly who was harrying and being harried by Padma's squad, and tailed her. Su Li was closest, and made her run for the target. Harry's heart stopped for a moment as he saw the small female form weaving back and forth towards the target, then started again as he saw her flying style, quite different from Ginny's. Then he cursed himself for feeling even a moment of relief that it was "only" Su Li in danger. The Ravenclaw was gaining steadily, was raising her wand to cast her spell, when a flick of the dragon's tail sent her flying off her broom and falling to the ground. Another squad took up the wounded flyer; it wasn't a long fall, and it hadn't been the thick end of the tail, Su Li should be all right with treatment, but still... _'Only' swat at you_, Harry thought. _'Only' as thick as an aspen trunk and as fast as a whip_.

Meanwhile, the fog of war was everywhere being thickened by clouds of dragon smoke, through which flyers came in out who might be foes or might be friends. One Death Eater in the heat of pursuit miscalculated where the wards were, or forgot that the students could pass back within them, and led his dragon into the magic boundary. The reaction was not as devastating as it had been for mere wizards, but still the dragon was tossed violently backwards, lost his wingbeat and fell to the earth. A falling dragon will instinctively turn so that it lands on its heavily armored back, and the rider on that back, with no time to extricate himself, could do nothing but add a minuscule bit of added cushioning for the Short-Snout. The dragon staggered up, dazed by the impact, and waited for his next command. When none came, he turned back his head, saw what remained of his former master, and gave something that sounded almost like a snort of satisfaction. The next moment he was flying away from the battlefield, and the moment after that he was visible only to the sharpest eyes on that field.

Encouraged by such successes, some students tried to bait the Death Eaters into similar traps; perhaps Hermione's lunatic plan wouldn't be needed after all... But Dragons are highly intelligent and adaptive animals, and did not fall for the same trick twice. Red Squads kept up their flying, and Harry's group maintained pursuit of 'their' female. Harry went after the Ironbelly, but had to pull away as the mad cross-traffic of war got in his path, dragons chasing mock-Death Eaters all oblivious to his presence. That left Zacharias next in best position to make his run, but he never got close enough to raise his wand; Harry watched in horror as a brilliant cone of flame came down from the Fireball interceptor above them, and Zacharias went to ground in agony. Harry and Ginny raced down to join him, put out the flames and stun him into unconsciousness. A squad came once more to take their wounded comrade back for treatment, and Harry made his decision.

"Ginny, you've got to go back with him."

She hesitated, glancing between Zacharias and Harry, clearly calculating _whichever way I go, I might be helping save one and leaving the other to die..._

"He's burned so badly Pomfrey will need you to help if he's got any chance. Ginny, I'm ordering you, please!"

Ginny reached up with her right hand to take off Harry's mask, and took off her own with her left. She gave his eyes a brief but searching examination, then said "all right _Sir, _I'm obeying you: this time." As Ginny replaced the mask on Harry's face, he felt the hint of a linger of her palm on his cheek, then she was gone, flying back towards the castle.

Harry was up on his broom and off in pursuit once more. There was the female Ironbelly again... _I'm probably chasing you harder than any male dragons ever did, you ugly old worm. And I'm not even getting any. _He wondered for a split second where _that_ thought had come from, shuddered at the image it summoned up, then put his mind back on his quest. Harry was a hundred meters away, and the dragon was slowly banking side to side, looking for students to attack. By now the dragons were seemingly aware that the flying 'Death Eaters' meant them no good, and were chasing them with very little hesitation.

Meanwhile, the genuine Death Eaters (those not on dragonback) were taking a page from A.F.F. tactics and sending a hailstorm upwards in the direction of the dragons and their pursuers; their theory was that the projectiles which might be deadly against the student enemy would bounce harmlessly off the armor of their dragon allies. Harry accelerated and swiveled, dropped and stalled, swept out graceful parabolas and made airborne stutter-steps of desperation, keeping dozens of potentially fatal bludgers at bay.

Harry was within fifty meters, and glanced up at the Fireball trailing the Ironbelly from above; the Death Eaters might not have deduced the A.F.F. strategy exactly, but they were now aware that students were consistently trying to come up on the dragons from behind, and were positioning other dragons to intercept. The glance cost him a split second's alertness, and a stone flew full force into his hip. The shock of pain hit his system and Harry responded instantly, reflexively, as he had been trained to do in dozens of sessions with Professor MacGregor: cast a wordless analgesic charm before the pain had a chance to lodge itself in his consciousness. The shattered hipbone could be healed later, probably.

Thirty meters, about a dragon's body length, and the Fireball saw him and started a dive. Harry put on a burst of speed that he knew would make his dad stand up cheering, but Harry was no more going to outfly the dragon than a human, even an Olympic champion, could swim rings around a shark. The jaws opened for a deadly flameburst -- or perhaps the dragon would just make a leisurely meal of the boy -- then another broom flashed in front of the Fireball's head and a bolt of magic struck him right between the eyes.

The dragon bellowed in rage, shook its head dizzily, and made a wild snap somewhere in the direction of its attacker, but the Conjunctivitis curse had made it impossible to focus. The Fireball had apparently forgotten entirely about Harry, who was now within meters of his target. The last-moment rescuer now flew up beside him.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, "let's blow this thing and go home!"

"_Fructuarius!_" Harry incanted, and the pair peeled off.

For a few agonizing seconds it seemed the spell had done nothing; the dragon kept circling, the battle went on around. Then the Ironbelly flew down to the ground, began walking in circles with her back raised high and roaring towards each of the compass points she passed. When her handler tried to start her flying again with a curse to her side, she looked back to him with an astonished glare, turned her body into a tight spiral which brought her rear end up against the rider in her midsection, and casually tore him to pieces with methodical lashing of her tail. In the near distance, a Short-Snout broke off its attack against the students to turn its nose in her direction, then began flying towards her. The Short-Snout found itself on a collision course with a Ridgeback, and the pair began their contest. In the further distance, the male Fireballs began their unique ritual contest: first they would spiral up around one another, climbing higher and higher until there was almost no air to support them, then plummet downwards in a leviathan Wronski Feint for two. Those riders who hadn't already passed out from lack of oxygen on the upswing would lose consciousness from the assault of G-forces on the downdraft.

Soon the air was filled with similar contests, awe-inspiring in their power and frightening in their ferocity, and the only riders who survived the dives, the claws and the flames were those who bailed out on their brooms. Some of those were able to escape from A.F.F. pursuit, as did some of their comrades who were there for the primary objective -- bringing down the wards -- but without their dragon guard, most were quickly subdued and brought in. It took much longer for the dragons to settle their conflict, but in the end one male regally accepted the submission of his rivals and went off into the forest with his mate.

Though primarily solitary animals, dragons will assist one another after mating contests, so the losing suitors groomed one another, tended scars and removed bits of human which had become lodged here and there before departing for their various homelands.


	8. SnakeEater

**viii. Herpophage**

Harry Potter was flying through a field of dragons, not quite clear in his mind whether he was trying to escape or pursue them; when he tried to pursue, the dragon would be miles away in a beat of its wings, and when he tried to escape he found his broom refusing to obey his repeated commands to get moving.

"Dragons don't hunt humans," Terry said to him reassuringly, reading from a book in the library. Harry pulled up a chair next to him. " 'For thousands of years wizards banded together to kill dragons who did, so the human-hunting instinct faded out under selection pressure, as it did with wolves who tried to prey on Muggles--"

"Terry, don't say that," Harry said in panic, "They might hear you, and then they'll try to prove you're wrong." Sure enough, a Fireball immediately poked its head through the wall and swallowed Terry whole. The creature gave a long, reptilian laugh, and Harry threw himself at the murderer in a rage. "You think this is _funny_? YOU THINK IT'S _FUNNY_? I'LL TEAR YOUR FUCKING THROAT OUT!" He leaped down the dragon's throat and started punching holes in its tongue, its cheeks, its gullet from the inside until there was nothing left around him but a kind of wide-woven basket of dragon scales. "ARE YOU LAUGHING NOW, YOU MISERABLE PRICK? YOU LAUGHING NOW?"

"_Potter_!"

"YOU WANT MORE, DO YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHITE?"

"_POTTER!"_

The dragon kept on thrashing, Harry kept on stabbing and slicing, stabbing and slicing, the dragon was trying to shake him off...

"**MR. POTTER**!"

Harry opened his eyes and saw Madame Pomfrey looking down at him, shaking him by the shoulders.

He was in bed in the hospital wing. He took a deep breath. Madame Pomfrey looked like she needed a few moments to recover also.

"Sorry, sorry," Harry said. "For making you come out, and... about the language."

"I'm not going to take points, Mr. Potter."

Pomfrey took out her wand and performed her diagnostic spells, tracing the injured hip area with particular care. Harry took the chance to glance over at the other beds. He stared at Zacharias, who was lying immobile in what looked like a translucent cocoon. Pomfrey saw where Harry was looking.

"Mr. Smith is doing as well as can be expected. He may be out of there in ten days to a fortnight." Harry nodded with relief. The Matron continued her examination.

"Madame Pomfrey," Harry asked, "why didn't the dreamless sleep potion work?"

Pomfrey said, "The brain needs to dream to maintain itself, Mr. Potter. Ordinarily, it can do without them for a day or two, but apparently in your case the need was so overwhelming it overrode the effect of the potion. I would have to guess your brain is struggling to adapt to the flood of memories it received from, from your classmates. Were you dreaming about one of them?"

"Yeah. About Terry. It was actually a scene from one of his memories, part of the dream was anyway, him doing research on dragons in the library."

"I presume the dream wasn't confine to a library tour."

"No, some real dragons -- well, not exactly real dragons, but--"

"Yes, I understand. The problem is, Mr. Potter, that your reaction was so strong it undid the effect of the bone-binding solution you took after your injury. To put it bluntly, your hip is in pieces again. The effect of the pain-relief potion hasn't worn off, thank goodness, or we wouldn't be able to have this conversation. You'll have to spend another night here."

"But... won't the same thing happen again? I've been having these dreams pretty much every night."

Pomfrey stared at Harry. "You've been screaming and thrashing like this every night, and nobody has noticed it?"

"Two-way silencing charms in each bed, except for mine."

"Why do you need-- Oh." The matron shook her head disapprovingly. "In any case, you'll need to be sedated and immobilized when you're given the next bone-binding potion, to give that hip a chance to heal."

Harry considered this for a few seconds. "If these memories are coming through so strong, that the dreamless sleep potion didn't work, then-- won't the immobilization charm get over-ridden too?"

"There's a chance of that, yes."

"Then you'll have wasted two doses of bone-binding potion. How much do we have left? The students might need it, after the next battle--"

Madame Pomfrey's face darkened.

"--they might be injured more badly than I was," Harry finished.

"You were injured quite badly enough, Harry," said Pomfrey, "and you _are_ one of the students who need it, if you haven't forgotten, and it isn't your place to worry about the allotment of medical supplies, it's mine."

"Of course it's my place, I'm the-- I'm in charge here," Harry said. "Oh, don't give me that look, like 'Oh, really, how precious,' I know it's ridiculous, but it's the truth, you want me to resign?"

His temper was starting to boil over, and Pomfrey quickly moved to appease it. "No, Mr. Potter, I know the students look up to you. And you are performing quite... you're doing everything Professor Dumbledore could possibly have asked, and more. I'm sorry if I haven't said that earlier."

"Well thanks, that's... don't worry about it. But I've got to be in on this kind of decision, and I can't be taking potions in limited supply for myself, especially if they might end up getting wasted on me, captains can't do that, I can't do that."

Pomfrey shook her head again. "And how are you going to perform your duties as captain without a functioning right hip?"

"I can still fly. I can control the pain. Ginny or Hermione can do a temporary bone-knitting charm to carry me through for a couple of hours at a time."

"Each time you do that, Mr. Potter, you do further damage to yourself, and very soon that damage will _not _be reparable. If that happens, you will never walk normally. Not to mention other hip-intensive activities, like the ones that require two-way silencing charms."

Harry looked up in surprise at that last comment, and gathered himself, fighting the urge to giggle at the combination of Madame Pomfrey's elegant euphemism and her stern look. "If I get out of here with no more damage than that," he said, "don't you think I'll be pretty lucky?" And the Matron had no comeback to that.

-------------

The end of October approached, and with it the day of ill omen, Halloween. Nobody mentioned the horrors and crises this day had brought in so many years previous, but Harry was not the only one convinced that Voldemort would not let the occasion pass. After so many embarrassments, he would be looking for an opportunity to retake the stage triumphantly. The anniversary of the day that had made Harry an orphan and Voldemort a wandering ghost, that had bound them as prophesied rivals... what could be a more dramatically appropriate moment for the Dark Lord to announce himself at the last stronghold defying him?

October 31st came. The Army of the Forbidden Forest told themselves they weren't the green kids who had trembled before at the thought of Voldemort's wrath, they were the victorious veterans now of four battles (if you didn't count the fights against the Giants and the Dragons each as two-parters with a loss followed by a win, but rather saw each as one long battle ending in triumph). They were ready for Tom, old Tom, Snakeface, Moldy Voldy--

"Chil-dren!"

The students in the Great Hall looked around to see who had said that.

"Children, you will come _out_ now!"

This wasn't like the Surrender Chorus, a Sonorus-amplified sound coming through the walls; it seemed to be coming, deadly level, from inside the Hall. Only Harry could recognize it from experience; he nodded in confirmation at those who turned questioningly towards him.

"You have had your moment of mischief, children. You all knew the time to pay for it would come. It has come now."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron shouted to each corner of the wall, "how did Lucius and Bella and a hundred or so of your arse-kissers like our _mischief_?" A few students started a cheer at this, but it faltered into the silence around it. Some of the younger ones began with hysterical giggles that morphed into cries: _heh, heh, hah, ho, oh, oh no, oh no._

"Weasley. Shall I take my payment for that childish insolence out of your sister's flesh, or your girlfriend's?"

After a few loud curses, the hall was quiet again.

"There will be more pain," the voice intoned, "and more death, for every second I need to waste on your willfulness."

The grim-faced officers were on their brooms now, and rest of the Army of the Forbidden Forest were fumbling for theirs, waiting for the signal from their captain, but Harry had them wait for a moment. _They're looking for me to give them something to rally around_, he thought, and called back:

"Pain and death sounds good to me, Tom! You really ready for yours?" Now the students laughed and shouted "That's right!" or "Tell him, Harry!"

"Harry Potter. You will be allowed to walk silently towards a quick death, but that is all the charity I will give. Every word from you, from this moment, will be the death of one of your friends."

Harry was in a state of stymied fury when Ron stepped forward. "Give him a word on my behalf, Harry. Make mine a good one."

"One for me, too!" Ginny said. "You have to make mine a long one!" Hermione said, to general laughter. "And me!" "Yes, I think I'll take one also!" There was a roar throughout the hall of volunteers begging to be part of the Word of Death game. Harry felt his heart swelling. _We all know it, it's win or die, and we're all pledged to do it together; no point trying to squirm out of anything. _He held up his hand again for silence, cleared his throat and began... to sing:

'**Moldy Voldy came to Hogwarts, riding on a Snorcack**

'**Stuck a wand in his back pocket, Crucio'd his asscrack!**

And as Lord Voldemort attempted to express his lack of amusement, the A.F.F. chorus came in over him, singing:

_**Moldy Voldy keep it up! You're an inspiration**_

_**Kids can use your poster as a cure for masturbation!**_

To the rhythmic clapping of the students of Hogwarts, Harry continued:

'**Moldy Voldy drank a potion for some extra power**

'**Brewed it out of Malfoy piss and asked why it was sour!**

And the chorus picked it up with:

_Moldy Voldy keep it up! Pop that pus-filled canker! _

_You'll be in the Hall of Fame--for Biggest Wizard Wanker!_

Harry sang:

'**Moldy Voldy went out shopping for some talcum powder**

'**"Take a bath in shit" they said, "that might just hide your odor."**

And the hundred soldiers and reserves, who had been keeping careful track of the word count, chanted: "ninety eight, ninety nine, _one hundred!_ READY OR NOTHERE WE COME!"

There was no enemy in sight as the hundred broomriders came rushing out of the castle: no Death Eaters, no magical creatures, and no Voldemort. The A.F.F. were all following Harry, and Harry was flying like a hawk for the Forbidden Forest itself, following the thread from his scar. As they passed the wards, they could see a huge clearing in the forest, a circle surrounded by flame, in the center of which stood their most dreaded adversary, wand at his side, alone.

Harry came diving towards the Dark Lord, with the officers right behind. Before Harry could cast a spell he was assaulted by blasts of hot swirling wind and sent tumbling backwards. He was able to right himself in mid-air and went to return to the attack, but when he recovered from the disorientation, he could see that there was nobody behind or around him. Outside the hemisphere whose circumference was the fire-circle, the students could not pass. Some were lying dazed on the ground, and many fliers who were trying to come through the barrier now joined them after being thrown back off their brooms by the invisible force. Others were trying without success to disspell or counteract this magic, and within the circle... there were five figures, bound and immobile, lying close to Voldemort.

"You see, Potter, I learned from your device against Bella's group. I can also choose who, and how many to let in. They should all be honored, Potter, your group from the Ministry expedition. I am giving them their execution personally."

Harry tried to fly close enough to cast Finite Incantatum on the magical binding, but once again faced a whirlwind of such power he could not control his flight, could not stay on his broom. The broom tumbled down and away, and Harry felt himself being thrown back, down, back, up; then the whirlwind disappeared, and there was nothing supporting him in the air. Once again, he reached inside his magic, trying to find the transformation he would need to survive. He calmed his mind, saw time slowing around him...

_You must be able to see your form in the mind's eye, and recognize yourself in it_, Sirius's diary had said. The legs, the talons, those were old hat by now, they came quickly, it was the upper portion of the bizarre creature which had always stopped him, something so large he couldn't see how it could be a raptor, with its long, ungainly, winding neck like that of some mutant swan, its outsized, sharp-pointed beak. But he had seen it, he had _been _that bird, in the strange vision Bandhit had put him under last year. And in that vision, he had battled to the death with another Dark Lord -- ripped nineteen of his arms off with those talons, bitten clean through nine of his necks with that beak -- coming to the rescue of a helpless...

The words he had spoken then returned to him. He needed only to change one pronoun:

_You will not take them. Not while I live. You will not have them._

And the next moment he was flying again, now under the power of his own wings.

The winds and flames Voldemort was sending towards him seemed now to glance off him or flow through his feathers. The deadlier curses he could _smell_ in advance of their leaving Tom's wand, it required only a twitch of the tail or a quick bank_ -- good, my hip is perfectly fine now_ -- to evade them. He soared down towards his target, landed within meters of striking distance, and approached, alert to any movement. _The fool isn't making any effort to avoid his fate. Good prey! _

Voldemort seemed amused; there was more of his high-pitched laughter, more of that ugly rictus grin. _Such tiresome cackling. It will be a relief to be rid of it_. He began his speech of gloating. "So, Potter, you are a Death Eater after all." _He must think I'm just a large vulture. Amusing._ "You must know, the Animagus won't survive unless it eats of its natural food soon after its first transformation. I'm going to extend my generosity and help you now, Potter. Which of your friends would you like for your first meal? I can even speed their putrefaction so you can dive right in after I kill them. Who looks tastiest now?"

"Oh, you stupid Dung Lord," the raptor replied, "don't you know that I also eat snakes?"

On hearing those words, a look of utter shock and panic come over the Dung Lord's face, but Harry hardly took a moment to enjoy the spectacle. His long winding neck uncoiled and lashed like a whip, sending his head at Voldemort's wand hand, and in one impossibly rapid strike he had bitten that hand clean off its arm, and swallowed it down. The taste was better than butterbeer.

The raptor quickly crushed the wand with one talon as his prey screamed in pain. Voldemort was able to cauterize his wound, to stop himself from bleeding to death. Performing such wandless magic while going into shock was a feat that Harry almost had to admire, but it also reminded him he needed to follow up and put his prey down quickly before it could pull any surprises. The raptor lept unto the Dark Lord's chest, beat him down to the ground, and struck at his mouth, ripping out the tongue to prevent any spoken wandless spells. Then he used his beak as a spear against Voldemort's torso (the largest target; the throat could wait for the coup de grace until the prey was too weakened to struggle and toss), punching gaping holes in the chest and stomach. The raptor leaned back to get leverage for another strike, then suddenly his wings and beak were gone and he was tumbling awkwardly to the ground.

Harry lay on the ground a couple of meters from Voldemort, just a teenaged boy once more, dazed and confused, and immediately felt a wave of nausea so powerful he thought his insides would have to expel themselves. Nothing came up, though; whatever was in his stomach was staying in his stomach... _the parts of Voldemort that I swallowed_, he thought. _Why in God's name did I do that?_ The idea that such a thing could have seemed delicious only moments ago was as repulsive to his mind as the thing itself was to his body. He was paralyzed with pain, helpless, and looked towards Voldemort to see if his foe was any better off. Riddle was still lying on the ground, wounded and hardly moving, but standing next to him, pointing his wand at Harry, was Peter Pettigrew.

Pettigrew, Harry realized, must have been a rat in his master's pocket; he had come out and transformed when Voldemort was in trouble, then performed the spell on Harry to end the Animagus transformation. Now Voldemort stared at his servant; he was unable to speak without a tongue, and too weak to perform dark magic, but he was obviously giving a mental command, one that brought a shake of the head from Pettigrew.

"Please, my lord, I've saved your life, but I can't... not with my own wand."

Voldemort's face clouded even deeper with fury, and his mental assault brought a bolt of pain to Pettigrew which sent him clutching at his head. "Yes, my Lord, I am sorry. I will... now..."

Harry started crawling towards Pettigrew to grapple with him, but realized he wouldn't make it, and was too weak to do anything. As Pettigrew raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's chest, Harry stopped his crawling and looked up into the eyes of his parents' betrayer, trying before he died to stare into them with all of the disgust he could bring out. To his surprise his own stare seemed to be bringing as much pain to Pettigrew as had his master's. Pettigrew tried to look at Harry's face, looked away, tried again and again, and was forced to look away twice more. He finally lowered his wand.

"No, my lord. I can't. I won't."

Voldemort raised himself and raised his one good hand to throttle his servant's throat, and found himself holding air; Pettigrew had transformed and was dashing away. Voldemort was recovering rapidly enough to give chase, trying to stomp the fleeing rat, with Harry temporarily forgotten in the Dark Lord's rage at this betrayal. When he finally given up the pursuit and returned his attention to his true enemy, his chance for a quick victory was gone; by the time Voldemort could summon up the magic for a wandless and non-verbal spell against the boy, Harry was now revived enough himself to perform the transformation once more. The raptor launched himself at his prey again, talons extended...

Voldemort took one look at the figure flying towards him, turned pale, and Disapparated.

The raptor came down on the ground, the prey out of his reach, and gave a long screech of anger. He flew upwards to see if he could find any trace of Voldemort either by sight or smell anywhere in the landscape, but had to return disappointed. He cautiously returned to human form, ready to retransform if overcome by pain and nausea, but it was tolerable this time. Harry rushed over to where his friends were lying and quickly unbound them. The wards seemed to have come down also, with Voldemort's Disapparation, and the rest of the A.F.F. came rushing into the circle. They kept their distance from Harry, though, as he stomped back and forth in bitter disappointment.

"I had him, I _had_ him--"

"Harry--" Ron was following his friend back and forth, trying to get his attention

"Pettigrew. If Pettigrew hadn't been there--"

"Harry--"

"Or if I had gone for the throat earlier, he was probably a goner by then--"

"Harry," Ron cried, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around. "Harry, you-- you just kicked Voldemort's arse!"

Harry looked at his best friend, who was smiling, along with the rest of the officers, and looked around at the rest of the Army of the Forbidden Forest, who were looking on with more awe than anything he had ever seen. He quickly looked back at the quintet.

"I guess I did," Harry said, feeling a bit of awe now himself

----------------

A sign was posted outside the Headmaster's Office, declaring:

STRATEGIC REVIEW IN PROGRESS

PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB

Inside, the six officers were reviewing the day's events with the strategic aid of one bottle of butterbeer and two bottles of Ogden's. (The butterbeer was for Ginny, who stayed away from Firewhiskey. She didn't like the effect, the not feeling in control of herself.) The feeling of relief among them was almost palpable, and their breath was quickly becoming almost palpable too. The topic turned to the strategic advantages of Harry's new form.

"Don't be offended, Harry," Ron said, "but you are really, really ugly. I think you could take years off a Death Eater's life just by showing yourself to him like that."

Harry smiled back, but he was actually just a little miffed by that comment. He was becoming quite at home in his feathers.

"For a moment, you know," Hermione said, "while we were lying there... it sounded like you were actually talking to Voldemort. I imagined you were saying something like 'I eat snakes'." Everybody but Harry laughed at this.

Harry was puzzled. "That's what I did say. I didn't think it was that good a line, but Voldemort stopped…" Harry stopped himself, as he realized everyone was staring at him, especially the portraits.

"That's impossible, Harry," Hermione insisted. "Even in the wizard world, animals don't talk."

"Well, I talked the first time also."

"The first time?" Ginny asked. "I thought today was the first time you'd completed the transformation."

"Yeah, the first time for real, but, last year, after all that--" Harry shook his head, took a breath and a swallow, then put down his glass.

"It really starts back at Grimmauld Place, or just before that, so -- Luna, Neville, you've probably wanted to know the story behind that, and you deserve to, so now is as good a time as any..."

----------

"You remember when Dennis was abducted," Harry began his tale. "Voldemort sent a letter to me saying he would release Dennis if I gave myself up to him. Well, I couldn't do that--"

"He means he was prevented from doing that," Ron interrupted. "The letter was a portkey but Harry couldn't get his hands on it."

"Because my roommate here was expecting something like that and staying up by the window to intercept strange owls. By the time I realized what was going on, Ron had already eaten the letter."

"You ate a portkey from Voldemort?" asked Neville.

"That way, Harry wouldn't be tempted to try _Accio_."

"Ah."

"And it was just a couple of hours till breakfast time."

"So," Harry continued, "they tried to keep me locked in the castle. And they did. And Dennis's body got deposited in Hogsmeade with the note attached about what happens to friends of Harry Potter, which they also tried to keep from me, but I read the description in the Prophet, and anyway, Colin, Colin was--"

"Colin was a madman to Harry," Ginny finished. "I know he was grieving, I know he _thought_ he'd been 'let down', but he was impossible."

"You know all that stuff already though," Harry said. "Well, at that point, I'd had enough. I just kept thinking to myself, _I have to end this, I have to end it. _I started really looking for a way to get around the watch on me, but I also had to think of some way of taking Voldemort with me. And I thought, two things are really overlooked or underestimated in the wizard world: Muggle technology, and house elves.

"I used Kreacher first; they'd blocked Floo travel or Floo conversations for me, but Kreacher still had Sirius's mirror, and nobody knew I'd had mine repaired. So I said to it, wouldn't you like to do a favor for your old mistress, and all of her nice old friends, invite them to Grimmauld Place; I'm the owner of the house so I have the authority to ask him and to let them in past the wards. And tell them that I'm throwing a late Christmas party for them, I'll be there on this date at this time, no presents needed, just bring themselves. Then I told Dobby he could help me bring down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He could help transport meout of Hogwarts when the time came, help me get to Grimmauld Place. But first he had to get me this special potion ingredient, lots of it, he could find it in Muggle military bases..." Harry smiled in reminiscence. "Dobby always pronounced it 'see-for', like I was getting something to give me X-Ray vision or something--"

"It wasn't funny _then,_ and it isn't funny now!" Hermione shouted. Harry looked abashed, and Ron put an arm around her. Hermione turned to Neville and Luna. "When Harry disappeared, we were running frantically around, and when we came to the kitchens, Dobby looked surprised to see us. 'Dobby thought the great Harry Potter was taking his Wheazy and Hermione with him.' We flattered and pleaded and lied the story out of him, but he was just bursting to tell anyway. 'Today Harry Potter will vanquish the Dark Lord with the see-for Dobby brought him, Dobby is so honored!"

"So what exactly is see-for?" Neville asked.

"Capital 'C', number '4', C4," Hermione answered. "It's an extremely powerful explosive, even in Muggle form. If you perform compacting charms on it, one man can carry enough under his robes to level a city block."

"So I did," said Harry. "And I put another charm on it, based on--" Harry was about to say "Dead Man's Switch," and explain how it got that name, but thought better of it. "This charm," he went on, "would set off the explosive if I lost consciousness, so if I lost the duel to Voldemort--"

"Don't try to pull that 'if' bullshit, Harry," Ron broke in. "You had no chance of beating Voldemort and everybody he brought with him. You had no plan whatsoever for doing that."

"No... No, of course, you're right. But I still didn't think of it that way. I mean, the simplest thing to do would have been, go in and just _Stupefy_ myself as soon as I see Tom's face and get it over with. But believe it or not, I didn't think of that. I was still thinking in terms of a duel. I really don't know what I was thinking."

"Another form that Luck comes in," said Luna. "Thoughtlessness can be a very powerful force."

"So..." Harry tried to regain his thread. "I get to Grimmauld Place, and there's the usual suspects. Lucius Malfoy, he's the spokesman, and he says nyah hah hah, we will not kill you now, Potter, that's for our master. I say well, good, I think I'll get something to drink then, anybody want anything? That seemed to shake them up a bit.

"Tom apparates in, everybody gets on their knees. I take another drink. Tom turns to me and says... I don't remember exactly, something like 'cackle, chortle, caw caw caw,' and I say, yeah, yeah, are we here to duel or are we here to fuck around? He stops crowing and grinning now and stares at me. He's trying to enter my mind, find out what I've got up my sleeve, and I'm not letting him, though it's getting hard."

Harry took another sip of his Ogden's.

"I really didn't take that into account, how hard it would be to keep him out. Idiocy.

"But I'm holding out. I can see how nervous everybody looks, including Tom, and that gives me a boost. I don't know what would have happened, but, but then--"

"But that's when Hermione and I showed up with our portkey," Ron said.

There was a pause in the storytelling: Harry, Hermione and Ron remembering the scene, Ginny, Neville and Luna trying to imagine it.

"That," Harry said, "was, so awful, so... indescribably horrible. I think I'd rather die than go through another moment like that--"

"Harry, are you _listening_ to yourself? How did you find yourself _in_ 'a moment like that'? What is it going to take--" Hermione stopped talking, shook her head and bit her lip. Harry looked sheepishly at her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. And I hate saying this because I know it sounds... despicably ungrateful, but--" Harry paused, struggling to get up the nerve to come out with it, but Ron saved him the effort.

"But you still keep thinking 'If only they hadn't shown up, it would have worked, Voldemort would be dead'."

"Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not trying it again."

"I can't imagine it would have worked anyway," Luna said. "Powerful wizards don't die from Muggle devices. Don't you remember, Harry, you told us how Hagrid said it was ridiculous to imagine your parents dying in a car crash?"

"What are you talking about, Luna?" Hermione asked. "Are wizards immune to-- if somebody dropped a hydrogen bomb on London, would the wizards all just walk away from it?"

"No, Hermione, don't be silly. They would all just happen to be somewhere else at the time. The strongest ones, anyway. And of course Voldemort _is_ an enormously powerful wizard, so his luck in these things would be very hard to overcome."

Harry thought this over for a while. "But Luna, Voldemort _wasn't_ 'somewhere else at the time' when I was going to use the C4 on him. So how would he have escaped it?"

"Oh, there are an infinite number of things that could have happened to save him, some of them commonplace, some of them very far fetched."

"Like what?"

"Like Ronald and Hermione portkeying in at exactly the right moment."

The room turned quiet for a few seconds. Finally, Harry shook his head. "Well, maybe you're right, Luna, but..." He really didn't want to consider the idea that Ron and Hermione had, in some sense, come not just to save him but to save Voldemort, so he decided to extricate himself from this digression and return to the main thread. "Where were we -- right, just after Ron and Hermione came in.

"Voldemort broke through what was left of my barriers in a second. Then the cackling really started. He _Accio_s Hermione's portkey and comes up to me and starts gloating in my ear."

_And these words, _Harry thought_, didn't just pass through my mind as a set of _caws_, I remember these words very precisely and vividly_:

'_I see you are just a lucky half-blood, Potter, as I've always suspected. Here is what is going to happen. I will Disapparate with however many servants I can't spare for now. The ones left behind will kill you and your friends. Of course they'll die with you. No, you won't set off your filthy Muggle device now, Potter, because you are still listening to a voice of hope saying 'this can't happen, something will prevent it_.' _You actually know it's a false hope, you know you should just kill us all now, but you won't. You will keep hearing that voice until a moment before you and your friends die from your cowardly bomb, then you will realize that you have lost everything, even the opportunity to gain a weakling's revenge.'_

"Then he turns away and calls out to the Death Eaters, says 'Crabbe; Goyle' -- they were, were, you know, the fathers of... our Crabbe and Goyle -- 'Fellowes; Mallory; Selfridge; you will have the honor of disposing of Harry Potter and his friends, and earning the eternal gratitude of your Lord. The rest of you, come back with me'."

Ron continued: "I didn't see any point in waiting for them to start throwing curses at us. We had to get that bomb off of Harry and get the hell out of there. So Hermione took out the portkey--"

"Wait a minute," Neville said, "I thought Voldemort had taken your portkey."

"I had two of them," Hermione said, "one for getting there, another for coming back. I was gambling that if we were holding the one out conspicuously, that would keep Voldemort's mind focused on it, and he wouldn't stop to think of there being another one. _Muggle_ magicians do that sort of thing all the time," she added, looking at Luna with at least a hint of smugness. Luna smiled back placidly.

"Before I could do anything," Ron said, "the curses were coming at us. Just as one of them gets Harry, and he's starting to black out, I cast _Divestio Totalis_ and Hermione presses the key into our hands. And you know what happened to the house. All that was left of it was ashes and toothpicks. And what happened to Crabbe, Goyle and the others." Ron grimaced. "I'm glad we didn't have to see that."

"Divestio Totalis, I don't know that one," Neville said.

"Removes all your clothing. I picked it up from one the magazines Fred and George subscribe to."

"Oh, is that one of their product research journals?" asked Luna.

"Err, no not exactly--"

"He got it from Playwizard, Luna," Hermione said.

"Well, we all know you can sometimes find useful information in unusual publications," Luna insisted.

"So... Harry," Neville continued, "that's what happened when you went missing, and that's why Crabbe and Goyle went after you in second term."

"Right."

"But what does that have to do with being able to turn into a talking... whatever you are?"

"OK," Harry responded, "here's the part after that, that I didn't tell any of you because it just seemed too weird."

----------

"After we all got back, and after Madame Pomfrey had checked me out, Professor Dumbledore asked me to talk to Bandhit again."

"But Harry," Neville said, "If he had been giving you counseling already, and you ended up... you know... then maybe he isn't really helping you."

"Yeah, well, I asked Bandhit about that actually, and he said it reminded him of a joke he once heard, about a man who got hit by a car, then got set on fire, then, you know, on and on, and the punch line was 'his condition was listed as 'Not Bad, Considering.' Bandhit finished telling the joke, then he said to me, 'After everything I've learned about you, Harry, I think your mental condition should be listed as 'Not Bad, Considering'."

"Can't argue with that, mate," Ron said.

"Anyway, I did agree to talk to Professor Bandhit, but I wasn't exactly in a receptive-- OK, I was a total snot to him." Harry then described the conversation they had.

"I've spoken to Professor Dumbledore," Bandhit said. "I've known him for many years, and I've never seen him like this."

"Like what, sir"

"Distraught, helpless…. Do you know about 'wizard debts'?"

"Yeah, when one wizard saves another's life."

"It could be other, even greater services. I owe Professor Dumbledore one. And he said if I could help you, the debt would be repayed."

"Well sure, if you help me beat Voldemort--"

"No no no!" Bandhit was uncharacteristically upset and agitated. "Nothing to do with Voldemort! He wanted me to help you get out of this cycle."

Harry felt a certain satisfaction at being able to get under the monk's skin, and decided to follow up on it. "I thought I was doing a pretty good job of getting out of the cycle," he said. "I was almost into my next reincarnation, wasn't I?"

Bandhit glowered, then visibly made an effort to calm himself again. "Harry, you know by now neither this world or the next works like that, that you blow yourself up into peace or enlightenment... It's a path you keep walking, you keep working."

Harry was not in the mood for any more philosophical discussion or talk of never-ending paths; it was starting to remind him of Bandhit's interrogation of his Uncle Vernon... "Why don't we skip to the part where you turn me into some animal?" he said.

Bandhit paused at this, then began to smile, and the smile rapidly broadened. "That's a good idea," he said, and raised his wand.

"And then," Harry said, "He cast some kind of illusion spell or dream spell on me. And in the, dream, or whatever it was, I was this giant talking bird; the bird you saw. And I was fighting against a demon king with ten heads and twenty arms. He'd abducted this woman and I wasn't going to let her get taken." You will not take her, not while I live. You will not have her. Harry unconsciously glanced in Ginny's direction, then realized what he had done and turned away.

"I know that story!" Hermione said. "That's from the Ramayana, it's an ancient Indian epic."

"Yeah, Bandhit said that after he broke the spell."

"How about the fight with the demon?" Ron asked, "How were you doing?"

Harry laughed. "Pretty damn good, actually. I was tearing off those arms like I was working an assembly line, but they just grew back. So did the heads."

"You cut off his heads?" Neville exclaimed.

"Most of them. They were really starting to litter the forest floor. Wonder what the local animals made of them. But I ended up losing anyway. Got tired. Well, I was -- the bird was sixty thousand years old, so it wasn't really a fair test--"

"How do you know the bird was sixty thousand years old?" Hermione asked.

"You know how it is in dream," Harry said, "you just know these things. Like I knew the bird's name: 'Jatayu'. Well, after Jatayu got beaten, Bandhit brought me out or woke me up, and asked me 'Do you remember, now?' I guess wondering if the spell worked properly. And I remembered it all very vividly. You know he'd taught me how to tell a false vision from reality, but this one was so detailed I couldn't spot the flaw. He must be more skilled than Voldemort at those sorts of illusions."

"Harry," Hermione asked, "do you remember what spell he used?"

"Yeah, Dhayana. It was Sanskrit, he said; most of his spells are."

"So," Harry continued. "I described what happened, the fight against Ravana -- that's the demon's name -- and he especially liked the part about my biting off his tongues to shut him up because I was tired of his monologuing. He said, 'Oh, that's a new one!"

"I think he misremembered," Hermione said. "I'm pretty sure that's in the version I read."

Harry shrugged. "I asked him why he put me into that particular scene; was he sending a message that he thinks I'm going to lose, like the Centaurs think? And he said no, that wasn't it, but what if I did lose? It sounded almost like, 'So what? If you lose, you lose.' Which I thought was a strange thing to say, since he knew the prophecy. I said, shouldn't I be worried? About a murder-crazy maniac ruling the world, and nobody else who can ever stop him? And Bandhit said, 'The world is a big place, Harry. Forever is a long time. Voldemort is a little dirty spider. Ravana, now there was a demon king. Ruled for ten thousand years. Voldemort, I'd give him a hundred years. Two hundred, tops'."

"Oh, that makes me feel a lot better," Ron said.

Harry laughed along with the others. "Yeah," he said, "I know what you mean, but the funny thing is, I did feel better. And I realized, eventually, that I had felt better while I was having that long fight, even losing it, than I'd felt standing around Grimmauld Place, waiting to blow everybody up with one flick of a switch. I think that was the point, really, the point to casting that illusion."

The friends sat in a companionable and (mostly) drunken silence for a while, and mulled the day's events and revelations. It was a silence finally broken by Ron. "So you're telling us, basically," he said, "that the reason you're the only wizard in history who can talk in his animagus form, is because that form is... a talking animal in a Muggle fairy tale?"

"It's an epic poem, Ron, not a 'fairy tale'."

"It's a story with talking animals, that's a fairy tale."

"There are talking animals in parables and fabliaux also."

"Is that Latin and French for 'fairy tale'?"

" 'Parable' is Greek--"

Ginny raised her wand and set off sparks and firecracker noises. "As the only sober person in this room," she said, "I am declaring this Review session over. Ron, Hermione, put the argument to bed: literally or figuratively, however you like."

Ron and Hermione said their goodnights and filed out, followed soon by Luna and Neville. Harry was left with Ginny. He began helping to clean the office, Scourgifying the water rings from Dumbledore's table, putting the bottles back in their niches. This went on for a while before Harry spoke.

"I didn't know whether you would have wanted me to talk about you and me-- your helping me out, after Grimmauld Place."

"Up to you, Harry. I wouldn't have minded."

"Well, let's keep it between us, for now."

"That's fine with me, too." And the pair said their goodnights.

Back in his dorm, Harry went over that scene. Maybe the stupidest, most shameful thing he had done, after making the decision that he was going to blow up the forces of darkness (and himself) in late December, was to ask Ginny for a Hogsmeade date -- in February. He had thought of it as a parting favor. Pretentious prick, he called himself for the hundredth time. Harry recalled:

After he had made it back alive, he'd been put in the Room of Requirement for a while, on the theory that the Room would best recognize his needs. It had provided a bed, some music, some exercise machines, a Japanese garden, and a small library. (The highlight of the collection, in Harry's opinion, was The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, though it seemed a work whose logic only Luna might perfectly follow.) The Room also provided relative privacy, but of course he had no lack of visitors: Ron had come in to rage and bellow at him, Hermione had cried and pleaded, Dumbledore had counseled and assured. He desperately hoped that Ginny would be too angry or too upset to come see him, but he realized the odds were highly against it, that she would be there to confront him sooner or later. It turned out to be sooner.

The youngest Weasley entered the recovery room, walked briskly towards the bed where Harry was sitting up reading, pulled up a chair and looked at him calmly, impassively. Harry set his face in a deep frown that he hoped conveyed the message Don't you start in too, I've already heard it from your brother, and everybody else... Ginny took no apparent notice of this.

"Well, Harry," she said, "are we still on for Hogsmeade in February?"

Harry had braced himself for tears, curses, or some combination of both, but was quite unprepared for this question. He floundered for several seconds, and finally settled on the all-purpose response: "Sorry?"

"We had a date, didn't we?"

Harry could hardly deny that, but... "Um, yeah. But I thought..."

Ginny let the sentence stay incomplete for an excruciatingly long time, then finally replied.

"The way I was brought up, you don't break a date unless you have a good reason. Do you have a good reason?"

Harry remained silent.

"Being dead would have been a good reason, but that didn't work out for you. Are you planning on trying to kill yourself again before February?"

Harry closed his eyes, turned his head into the pillow and groaned.

"I think I deserve an answer."

"No. No I wasn't planning on it."

"Good. I'm very glad to hear that."

Another few seconds passed.

"Harry, do you believe me when I say I'm very glad to hear that? That no matter what you do, or what anybody does to you, and no matter whether... I end up being the mother of your children, or we end up never even holding hands, I'm never going to wish you were gone and out of my life?"

Harry felt his head swimming and throat vibrating, but managed to choke out a "Yes."

"Good."

Another few seconds passed. Ginny fiddled with her robes and resumed.

"You've known me for a while now. When you asked me on that date, and you knew what you were going to do... What was going through your mind? Did you picture me cheering myself up, thinking, 'Well, it's true that he blew himself into tiny bloody pieces, but he was going to buy me an ice cream cone in Hogsmeade, so all my-- affection was not in vain!' Does that sound like me?"

"When you put it that way, no."

"And if you were really even half-conscious of what you were doing, I think you'd have recognized that. So I've got to think -- it's better to think, and I think it's true, that you weren't really yourself."

"Why would I want to be?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to fall back on "Pardon?"

"Why would I want to be myself? What sane person would want to be me?"

Ginny's jaw was quivering now; Harry wasn't sure if it was with anger, or...

"You're the most unfortunate person on this planet, then? There's nobody in the world, Wizard or Muggle, who has it worse--"

"No, I'm not saying that."

"--than you? You can't think of anything you have that some people would think was worth having, worth living for, wished they had as much of?"

Harry fell into another embarrassed silence.

"I think you know that you do. I'm not going to make you get all mushy and say it, because I would hate that too, but I think you know."

"Right," Harry said with relief. "Yeah, I do."

"All right. Let's leave it at that for now, OK?"

"OK."

Ginny nodded goodbye, got up and walked towards the door. Before she got there, Harry called out:

"Ginny -- thanks for coming."

She turned back, and smiled for the first time in the conversation. "You're welcome."

----------

As it turned out, Hermione didn't take her argument with Ron back to their bed; she decided to make a late-night library trip to satisfy her curiosity about the Ramayana, and Harry's story of his dream-participation in that saga. Her first stop was the Sanskrit dictionary, to see what the effect of Dhayana would be, what kind of illusion or hypnosis spell Bandhit had worked. What she found was enough to give her something of a chill; it didn't seem like an illusion spell, quite the contrary...

Dhayana : 1) pointed concentration, a type of meditative focus; 2) to reveal the true nature of something.

She moved on, picking out the library copy of the Ramayana, a relatively new (1972) but readable translation. Her memory was confirmed; it did have the part about Jatayu ripping out Ravana's tongues. Out of curiosity, she performed a Palimpsest spell, showing the different layers of textual history. When the results come up, Hermione dropped the book in shock:

Sita's abduction: 600 B.C.

Jatayu challenges Ravana: 450 B.C.

Jatayu tears out Ravana's tongues: January, 1997.

Hermione flipped hurriedly back to the information page and confirm the date of this edition: Published 1972. She tried to wrap her mind around this. Even given the possibility of magical interference with the ordinary rules of time... would every edition of the poem now show itself to have retroactively added this episode, just because Harry... dreamed it?

She went back to that part of the story, the fight between Jatayu and Ravana, trying to see what exactly made Bandhit associate the bird with Harry. She came upon one passage and had to throw her hands over her mouth to suppress a squeal of surprise:

He looked at the demon king with his green eyes...

Hermione read impatiently through the rest: the fight, the death of Jatayu, and the words of the god Indra at the old bird's funeral:

"By the Gods," said Indra, "Jatayu has had a place in heaven for a thousand lifetimes, but he won't use it; he returns as a bird, for he loves the sky. Over and over, again and again he gives up his life for what is right, never once wondering should he do it or not, nor reflecting will it do any good, nor would it be better to live to fight another time."

Hermione put the book down with care. "Not this lifetime," she whispered fiercely. "You don't give up your life this time, Harry, not if I have anything to say about it."

A/N: The story of Jatayu is taken, with very little alteration, from William Buck's free translation of the Ramayana. Jatayu really does have green eyes, and only one word was changed from the speech by Indra.

In order to finish the main plot by July 21 (a goal which has become an irrational obsession for me), I'm going to do some radical abridging of the original outline, though I hope the resulting version doesn't end up having too much of a slapdash feel. In fact this chapter is a condensation of material I'd first planned to take up two or even three chapters. (The fuller version, with more magical developments, more schtick, and more H/G, will appear eventually on Phoenixsong dot net.) Chapter Nine should come up here on Monday or Tuesday (July 16 or 17) and Chapter Ten (the final duel with Voldemort) on Friday or Saturday (the 20th or 21st). I'm still debating with myself whether to change the ending from the original plan; if I do change it, it will no longer be compatible with the "Flourish and Blotts Hour" story on Phoenixsong dot net; a different character will die. I will gladly listen to suggestions, or threats, on this matter. :-) In any case, the future, longer Phoenixsong version will stay "F&B-compatible."


	9. Fears

**ix. Fears**

_Excerpts from the Diary of Neville Longbottom_

2 Sept. 1997. Hermione comes to me, worried, asking whether the witches and wizards unable to leave their homes or offices will be starved. I reassure her that every wizarding building has at least one bottle of Never-Out Milk. (Told her the old joke about the man who spent half his fortune on a personalized, unbreakable, theft-proof bottle of Never-Out Firewhiskey, liked it so much he spent the other half on a second bottle.) She asks if this milk is vitamin-fortified, starts listing all the vitamins necessary for health, and now I'm the one who starts worrying. Then she says vitamin deficiency would only be a problem in the long run. Of course we don't know how long a run we're all in for. Not on the top of the list of things to worry about in any case.

9 Sept. 1997. Harry, Ron, Ginny all love the Quidditch Score business ("Hogwarts 10, Death Eaters 0"), Luna, Hermione and I a little less enthusiastic. What do we put up if we drive off another attack but some of us get killed? It would seem heartless to count that as still "zero." The youngest kids like it best, which I think counts as a point in our (L, Hr and me) favor.

13 Sept. 1997. 1st and 2nd years bearing up well. Lots of questions about how they can contribute, our official answer always is we'll see, we'll think about it, you have to trust us to make the decisions. Same speech our elders have been giving us since V's return. (I guess H, R & Hr have been hearing it since 1st year.)

14 Sept. 1997. Long nightmare about trying to gather youngsters into some secure hiding place, they keep giggling and running back out, all a game, you think they're tucked in and suddenly some secret passage opens itself up and away they go, there's a basilisk at the end of it... Luna shakes me awake. So grateful to have her there, makes me wonder about Harry. Ginny too. Two weeks into term, practically the only 15-and-olders sleeping solo. What would Grandmother say about that? She's OK. She's OK. She's OK.

19 Sept. 1997. We're all still miserable about Ernie. Some of the Gryffindors, especially, used to rag him for being the model student (didn't use those words, I'm not putting down the ones they used), looking guilty and sheepish at the service. Don't know what to think about Harry's getting his memories. Feel sorry for chewing him out now. Never thought that was a line that would appear in my diary, 'I feel sorry for being so hard on Harry Potter.' He'll survive being exposed to my wrath, I'm pretty sure. "Hogwarts 20, Death Eaters 0" goes up. Ron insists that not doing it would send the message that we were losing, or not winning, or not capable of taking casualties. Maybe.

28 Sept. 1997. Donald Williams, 1st-year Muggleborn (lot of Welsh students, I notice; land of Merlin, after all), tried to sneak out of the castle through the passage to Honeydukes, got caught. Said he wasn't trying to run away from the fight, he just wanted to call his parents or other relatives, find out what was happening. He'd heard of there being a shop, assumed they'd have a telephone. I try to explain about Hogsmeade, lack of Muggle technology, he's reluctant to believe me, suspects this is all some sort of huge joke we're playing on him, or some test. Very relieved when some of the other firsties stand up for me, 'Neville wouldn't do anything like that!'

2 Oct. 1997. Some of the younger students saw what happened to Ernie's body, got distraught. I called all of them together, didn't really know what to say: 'It didn't hurt, he was already dead' isn't right. 'You can't be afraid, that what they want' is so unfair, trying to bully kids into bravery. Not the sort of thing I could pull off, anyway. Only thing I could say was what a disgusting, low thing it was to do, and we were going to fight the ones who did it, and we would never do anything like that ourselves, we're better than them. (Hope to God I'm right.) They calmed down some.

13 Oct 1997. Harry asks if anybody knows about gay males getting ridiculed or intimidated here, and we're all surprised, say no, we hadn't heard anything about that, why? Seems Justin came to talk to Harry about this, about how hard it was sometimes to be openly gay, but how being closeted wasn't the answer, and Harry said no, is anybody making problems, do you want me to talk to the student body? Justin says no that won't be necessary, but will you think about what I said? which Harry agrees to, but now he still doesn't know what Justin wanted him to do? Ron says he can think of several things that Justin probably wanted him to do. Hermione says why make that assumption, it could have been a disinterested attempt to help, based on J's own experience, it didn't have to stem from personal attraction. At which point, Harry finally gets it. Doesn't seem offended, just puzzled why J thought that. Awkward moment; we all are thinking, well, Harry, maybe the reason he came to that conclusion is because you have all these girls offering themselves to you and you ignore them completely, except this one girl, happens to be in the room now, who's clearly devoted to you and you obviously feel very warmly about her but you're making a point of treating her like your sister in public, and why is that? But of course it's not our business to ask, and it's not his obligation (or hers) to answer. Or maybe, not my business or Luna's. Ron & Hermione probably know the whole story.

28 Oct 1997. Helped Donald, who's working with other first years on a chorus; after the ethnic music debate between Seamus and Dean, we thought we'd put together something for all nationalities, also give the youngsters a project. Donald naturally partial to the Welsh, his father sings in the Chepstow Male Chorus. Muggleborns very excited by wizarding methods of learning music, how it's possible to hum a few bars of something and have all the parts magically supplied. The wizard-raised kids seem impressed by depth and variety of Muggle music. Remember Dumbledore talking about it being a magic beyond all of us. Everything always seemed under control when Dumbledore was around, nothing rattled him. Harry says a lot of that was an act for our benefit. Don't want to believe that, but how can we doubt it now?

1 Nov 1997 Youngsters either unsure whether to believe weXX Harry got the better of Voldemort or eager to see the action, I agree to let them see my memories. Means they'll see me bound and helpless before I get off a word of the spell, but that's OK, nobody else made any impact either. On second thought, I think, maybe not such a good idea, having them see all the officers unable to do anything to protect them. Third thought: it's the truth, after all, they should have it. Youngsters love the transformation, even those who've seen animagi never saw one like this. ("Cool! wicked! awesome!)

Herm. says we need to let rest of wizarding world know what happened. According to Fred and George, rumor says V's planned response to previous defeats and loss of so many followers was to start drafting witches and wizards from the general population. 'Senior' Death Eaters -- the ones that were left -- would be the commanders, 'troops' would be the former shopkeepers of Hogsmeade and so forth. She says we could encourage defection and desertion, maybe even from the DE, by showing 'there's nothing irreversible about Voldemort's conquests, and he's certainly not getting Hogwarts.' Otherwise the draftees would think, no use in running, he'll come looking for us and find us when he's finished off all opposition. Basic questions: 1) what to say in limited space with limited ink and limited owls? and 2) how make it convincing? Still not resolved.

2 Nov 1997 On question 1), expected an argument over what to say about Ernie, Sarah, Terry, thought maybe Ron would suggest keeping casualties quiet for public morale reasons or to spare the families, but everybody agrees to be straightforward about it. Effect of the oath, not to let anybody be forgotten? As for 2), I unwittingly suggest the solution by lamenting "too bad we can't photograph pensieve memories." Luna points out that we can multiply them.

3 Nov 1997 Every owl in Hogwarts was off today, bearing a long parchment with as many protection spells as we could think of. Instructed to carry out general bombing of public places where no Death Eaters were patrolling. I've kept one copy folded in this diary.

_Neville's is one of nine surviving copies of this broadsheet. In the middle, taking up the great majority of the sheet, are two photographs taken by Colin Creevey, one of 194 captured Death Eaters and the other of the 226 Hogwarts students (it takes about half a minute for each photo to complete its left-to-right panning), and a statement, "We mourn Ernie Macmillan, Sarah Murphy, and Terry Boot, who died bravely in defense of Hogwarts." At the bottom is another notice: "This bubble-seal contains a Pensieve memory of a badly wounded Voldemort retreating, to save his life, from the attack of Harry Potter in his Animagus form. _Finite Incantatem_ will break the seal." At the top, in 36-point type, is the statement_

_We Are Winning_

6 Nov 1997 Very high spirits in the Great Hall, many students hopeful the owls will somehow get through the barriers to their families, let them know they're OK. If they do they won't be able to get out, we don't think, not until V's entrapment spell is broken. But we know that, which means it won't break our hearts when time passes and we don't hear back from them. We're all free to compose their responses for ourselves.

9 Nov 1997 1st year choir performs a few pieces for the student body, including American song "Battle Hymn of the Republic." When they sing the line "let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel," every head in the hall snaps towards Harry. Thought many times about what Harry said Dumbledore said about how it could have been me, but somehow seeing that scene, it really hit me in the face. Still shaking as I write this.

15 Nov 1997 Dementors. We're prepared.

16 Nov 1997 Great success with the 'dance', as everybody's calling it. Squads of six, three pairs, basically; 1st pair has prepared their Patronus thought, moves to the front, invokes the protector; meanwhile, 2nd pair turns brooms to face 3rd pair, who give warmth, encouragement, helping 2nd pair prepare theirs ; when 1st Patronus is exhausted, 1st pair flies down and under, goes to the back, 2nd pair turn round and take up front, casts their charm, while 3rd pair (now in middle) turns to face 1st pair, and so on. In our group Harry and Ginny start out 1st point, Ron and Hermione are 2nd, Luna and I 3rd. In this sequence, Luna and I are always giving support to Ron and Hermione, always getting it from Harry and Ginny. Holding hands across a broom hovering a hundred feet in the air, forehead to forehead, with girls who aren't Luna, Luna doing the same with boys who aren't me. (Hermione had wanted us to practice our embraces and words of bonding in advance, but Ginny rebelled against that idea.) After some time we switch sequences, and when we do it's like seeing our friends for the first time, we all break out into a kind of high, giggly 'How are you?' 'How are _you_?'

Harry and Ginny started by driving them so far back I didn't even feel the effects; all through the day, didn't even have a breakout of cold sweats. We found we could keep it up until all Dementors were thrown back out of sight. At the end of all this I feel like I have no strength to hold myself up, but I don't need any because I don't weigh anything anymore. Like I've been holding a high note and vibrated everything away. Don't know if I'm making sense. (I share this with Luna, who assures me I am.)

17 Nov 1997 Dementors did not return today. Must have been badly affected by yesterday's series of Patronus charms. We are going to win this.

20 Nov 1997 Dementors return. We push them back again, they still don't get anywhere close.

24 Nov 1997 Dementors return. We push them back again.

25 Nov 1997 The chorus Donald has put together now regularly serenades the returning squads. Definitely a Welsh selection bias. First thing we heard today was "Pantyfedwen," which I learned later was a song of praise to Jehovah and Jesus. The music itself was more the point; it seemed to be saying not so much "thank you" to these two deities, but more "we're J&J's men, so don't any of you other powers think you can get anything out of us." Good to come home to.

28 Nov 1997 Dementors return, we push them back. Harry is under the weather, less effective than previously, but we compensate fine. We're going to win this.

30 Nov 1997 We have to come up with a name for the chorus. Obvious suggestions, like "The Hogwarts First-Year Choir," rejected by singers as too lame. They want 'non-obvious', we give them non-obvious. Suggestions included "The Squeaking Pipsqueaks" "The Two-Sickle Ickles" "The Smarmies of the Forbidden Forest" etc. I persuade the youngsters this is a sign they've been accepted, that older students feel free to tease them, not patronizing them. I even half believe it myself.

2 Dec 1997 Dementors return, we push them back. Surprised to find it's now late in the day before we get rid of the last of them, used to be closer to mid-day. Days getting shorter, of course.

4 Dec 1997 Fred and George report Hogsmeade patrolled by fewer and fewer Death Eaters. Judging by voice, new ones are young, some are foreign. V not seen for about three weeks after Halloween, but now has shown himself. (Reports from bartenders or clerks who heard from low-ranking DE who heard from higher-ranking DE, etc.) No mention of what happened in Forbidden Forest, no explanation of his absence or his new right hand. We all expected it would be gold (since his servant Pettigrew's is silver), but it's like a "burned mummy's paw," says one. Tongue has grown partly back likewise, voice is a rasping gurgle. Speaks of plans now to widen the war, raze the cities of the Muggles and build a new pureblood civilization. Completely demented, but he still needs stopping, killing.

6 Dec 1997 Dementors return, we push them back. Heard Mum and Dad screaming. Held my ground.

Haven't talked to the others about what they hear, except Luna of course (her mother's death). Ron and Herm. say it isn't a good idea to exchange horrors, human mind too suggestible, will make us more fearful before we begin. Luna says aren't we running away from fear then, that can't be the right thing to do. Harry ends up saying it's up to each of us. He doesn't volunteer anything, though.

9 Dec 1997 Asked Luna if she ever thought about marriage. She says she thinks of it as 'artificial, unnecessary, way to force fidelity through legal, social, magical sanctions.' I nod and drop the subject. Chicken.

10 Dec 1997 Dementors return. We're now supported by the voices of the Ickle Chorus, spread by Sonorus across the distance. Drove them back.

12 Dec 1997 Harry dizzy and nauseous, unable to eat. Mad. Pom. can't find the problem, offers general balm, Herm. says it's just a Muggle 'smelling salt,' demands further tests, Harry says not necessary, he's fine now. Herm. glares and raises a finger, Harry holds out a palm, gives one nod and one shake of his head, Ron taps a finger, raises his eyebrows at Herm., she gives a brief nod. They should make a Gesturese-to-English dictionary for the rest of us, like Firenze's Asterish, so we can follow these 'conversations.'

14 Dec 1997 Dementors return. Takes until just after sunset now, despite support from home. I almost start panicking as sun goes down, thinking, in the dark we'll be more frightened, which will make us more vulnerable, which, etc. Ginny helps out: 'Keep dancing, keep dancing; you remember the ball, you were so debonair.' We both break up laughing, with dozens of soul-sucking dark creatures all around us.

18 Dec 1997 Takes until after sunset again. Mum and Dad, over and over, mum sobbing 'why won't you stop it, why won't you stop it'. Held my ground.

21 Dec 1997 Dementors return, only two days break this time. Shortest day of the year, only seven and a half hours daylight now, sunset just after 4PM, finally chased them off three hours after, felt like 1 AM by then, surprised when we come back that anybody is still up.

24 Dec 1997 Dementors return. When darkness starts to fall, we see Hogwarts begin to grow brighter and brighter, and hear song carried to us; students have worked on charming up thousands of lights, and the Ickles are singing "The First Nowell." Christmas Eve. I try to tell the first-years when I get back how much their singing meant to us, some of them burst into tears and I have to pat the shoulders and kiss the cheeks. What a spoiled bunch of kids, I start teasing them, such sensitive plants, when I was a first year I'd already learned to hold in my tears, I had Snape to practice on, then I start blubbering. We are going to win this.

25 Dec 1997 Harry asks Luna and me if we'd pose for a Christmas photo with him, Ginny, Ron, Hermione. Doesn't ask Colin to do the honors: he'll just hover the camera and use another charm to release the shutter. Ron and Herm. on his right, Ginny, me, Luna on his left. The countdown starts, 10, 9, 8, Luna and I put arms around each other shoulders, Ron and Herm. do same; 7, 6, 5, Harry gets a look of terror in his eyes and makes jerky movements with his left hand towards Ginny's right hand and back, like he's trying to catch a dangerous snake; 4, 3, 2, Ginny turns slightly in his direction, trying to time her hand movements to his; 1, Harry raises his left arm, rests his elbow on her right shoulder, leans his cheek into his palm, and tries to give a goofy grin. Ginny is left with her hand out, holding nothing. Shutter snaps. Moment of silence. Ginny looks at Harry, seems to wait a second or two for him to speak, but he just stutters and mumbles so Ginny turns and walks briskly out the door without looking back. Hermione and I avert our eyes from Harry and Ginny. Luna shakes her head in disappointment. Ron stares at his best friend with a look I don't need a translation for: _there's nothing wrong with your mental condition that a good half-hour of arse-kicking won't cure. _Dingthe picture comes out, photo-Ginny is in tears, slapping and punching photo-Harry, who just hangs his head down and takes it. Ron shoos everybody out but himself and Harry. Just as we're going I hear Harry groaning "I know, I'm a shithead, I know."

_Four hours later_: Harry finds us and begs us to come for another try at the Christmas photo. He apologizes to us for 'making you be there and watch that, see me be an ass and see a friend get hurt.' We follow him back, see Herm., Ron, Ginny, apparently satisfied. Ginny is looking over at three items on the table, presumably instant additional apology/Christmas gifts from Harry. _Maybe_ Luna will find out from Ginny something of what Harry did and said to appease her, but I doubt it. Dead sure none of the four will choose to share it with me. Countdown again, this time Harry threads his left arm through Ginny's right. Photo is quite lovely, Harry shows us his collection of Christmas at Hogwarts, now all seven years: first five with Ron and Hermione, last two all six of us. I glance at the three gifts before Ginny takes them away: a book, _The National Gallery: A Guide;_ a stack of imitation Muggle currency, and a box of Fred and George's cellophane. Muggle Christmas tradition, like that bizarre thing about leaping lords, milkmaids, and French chickens?

2 Jan 1998 Takes until 9 PM to drive them back. She laughs, asks Mum and Dad who they're asking to make it stop... Held my ground. First years still singing.

11 Jan 1998 Harry sick again, nausea worse this time, plus fever and shaking. Pomf. gives him dreamless sleep. Means our group, by far the strongest, can't go out. Ron says let's all stay in for a day, maybe effect of Dementors won't be felt too badly here since they're still outside the wards, we all agree. But by the end of the day we're all feeling it, some of the younger ones having bad attacks. We try to help each other, the anxious calming the hysterical.

12 Jan 1998 Lost Anne Fairleigh. Can't write.

13 Jan 1998 We were at full strength yesterday, though many said later they'd had a very rough night, nightmares. Me too -- Dementors flying towards Hogwarts carrying all the kids' parents & family on their backs, parents wave to the kids, they fly out to greet them and are Kissed. Everything just a half step off beat all day, Dementors gaining ground on one group, another comes to their aid, leaving 'their' Dementors unopposed, another group steps in to take up for the second, it's like another of those nightmares of rushing back and forth, finally catches up with Anne's group. Harry, who's the only one with a good night's rest, drives them off, but too late for Anne. We take her body back to the castle, still breathing steadily, eyes open, but Harry says he was hit with all her memories, just like the others.

We get back, other students see Anne and are distraught and frightened. The choir think they let us down, I assure, plead, insist they not think that way, we're all in this. Officers' discuss the dilemma: if we go out again tomorrow, under weight of the loss and missing one group, can we be successful? If we don't go out, Dementors will keep effecting us more and more until we're less and less able to beat them off when we do go out. We end up asking Pomf. for one night's Dreamless Sleep for all squad members, pretty much exhausting the supply, but otherwise we're trapped in a no-win cycle.

So, today we go out, and the first Patronuses from Harry and Ginny sweep away half the field. The day goes well, we drive them all off before sunset for the first time in a long while.

24 Jan 1998 Dementors return, takes until 8 PM to drive them back. Starting to have daymares or visions of future disasters, e.g. our turn to cast Patronus, I suddenly see the Dementors, just fifty meters away a second ago, are now in striking distance, reaching out for me. Shock, paralysis, but Luna shakes me out of it. By the time we cast, they are almost in striking distance. Held my ground after that.

28 Jan 1998 Harry very ill again. Still no answers. Swears he'll be on the broom when they come back tomorrow.

29 Jan 1998 Almost lost Harry. The fucking idiot was in no condition to dance. A four-chocolate attack. When he recovers, after we're all finished trying to bang sense into his head, he says there is something he finds familiar now about how the Dementors _smell_. Says he knows it sounds crazy. Luna says no, he's using "Jatayu's" memories, and recognizing the similarity to Voldemort whom he smelled with the bird's senses. Four skeptical looks, but nobody has a better explanation.

3 Feb 1998 Replacement for Anne Fairleigh still not really working out with the team. So hard for them to see her and not think of Anne, so hard to do the dance if they are thinking of Anne. Others pick up the slack, sort of.

11 Feb 1998 Dementors return. I'm being pounded on the back by everybody, all shouting Go Neville, you can do it, I look in the mirror and there's a lightning-bolt scar on my forehead, next moment I'm tossed into the room where Voldemort's waiting. Held my ground.

21 Feb 1998 Well after dark every night before we can come back. Everybody having dark visions now while on their brooms. By now most of us talk about them openly with each other. I tell mine about suddenly being told I'm the prophesied one and everybody tries to say, Well you could do it Neville. Only Luna sounds like she actually believes it. Of course she doesn't really know how to lie, sometimes I think she actually has trouble understanding the concept of lying. Harry reluctantly tells us his daymare: everbody has decided to take Voldemort up on his offer, they can all go free if they give Harry to him. We don't have to ask if "everybody" includes us, from the way he's looking at us, miserable and ashamed, it obviously does. Ron gets up shouting "the bastards," walks over to the window and looks out intently, like he wants to find the individual Dementor who told Harry that miserable lie so he can punch its bloody face in, and this makes Harry laugh, go over and put an arm around his best mate's shoulder while he's cursing the Dementors.

1 Mar 1998 We're falling victim to "reverberant doubt," Herm's phrase and explanation: we know we need to avoid fear, because if we do, the Dementors will get us, which is a terrifying thought; so we're afraid that we'll start feeling afraid, and if we push that thought back, then we start feeling afraid that next time we will start being afraid that we'll start feeling afraid. I start getting hysterical, it just suddenly seems hilarious that the fate of the wizarding world boils down to a bunch of teenaged wizards running around in circles trying to see if they can get away from their own heads. Harry tries to tell us something Bandhit said about techniques to break out of that circle.

4 Mar 1998 Harry worse than ever, Pomf. and Ginny have to do constant anti-fever charms, even then he's shaking so uncontrollably they're considering Stupefying him. Running low on potion. Ginny stays with him o'night.

5 Mar 1998 Late in second day before Harry recovers enough to sit up, still not strong enough to leave hospital wing until tomorrow.

8 Mar 1998 Hermione calls for an all-Hogwarts meeting, which always cheers us up because it means she's come up with another mad plan which couldn't possibly work but which will end up saving our lives. As always, Dean Thomas puts on his James Bond voice and asks 'What do you have for us today, Q?' It's a 'poison pill' for Dementors. Most of our Patronus are corporeal, and what's corporeal can -- with the right set of charms, some of which haven'tXXXX hadn't been invented --be slowed, shrunk, and frozen in place. Pensieve memories also come in a corporeal medium, and they can also, with the help of new charms, be stretched, solidified, and used as a containment film. (Harry, Ginny and Ron shout out 'Saran Wrap' together and go into hysterics. Say they'll explain later.) Put them together: a tempting 'worst memory' wrapping for the Dementor to go after, but there's a Patronus kick inside once they swallow the container. We go over details, looks crazily promising. I get a glance at Herm.'s notebook where she works these things out. There's a plan in there to convert the barricaded Floos into 'escape pods', like Muggle rockets that lift off, go up through the roof, fly us away if Hogwarts is taken over. I decide I'll take my chances with the Death Eaters.

11 Mar 1998 Hermione's mad plan will end up saving our lives!

We go out fishing on broomstick, toss out the bait and hover it, then retreat behind the wards to see what happens. I once went to a Muggle pond where there were people feeding a population of eels; dozens and dozens would come writhing together in one disgusting mass to fight over a piece of bread thrown down on the water, a piece not as big as one of their tails. The Dementors smell the memories of death, culled from all of us who saw what happened to Ernie, Sarah, Terry, especially Anne, and swarm towards the Patronus Pills and fight over them like those eels, then the 'winner' flies away with his catch and swallows it, leaving behind others to fight over other pieces of bait. Then its whole body comes to a halt in the air, a white light bursts out from the inside, the thing falls to the ground, gaping hole through its 'throat' and 'chest'.

Either the other Dementors don't notice this or they can't stop themselves. (Herm. thinks they don't really think, they just follow irresistible drives.) They go on swarming, feeding, flying away, exploding, falling, one after another, the whole student body laughing and screaming either from the air or from inside the castle, every bad 'eating' joke you can imagine. In half an hour they're all on the ground, not entirely motionless (sfawk they can't be 'killed'), but out of action. We're going to win this.

15 Mar 1998 We've used some of the time we have now to do some research into theories about what Dementors mutated from or how they were created, in case Luna's thought about Harry detecting a Dementor scent on Voldemort has something to it. Some re-occurring threads among all the legends and tales, like immersion in a cauldron with the Draught of Living Death with a vampire's fang added. Harry doesn't know what the ingredients in V's cauldron were, except the last three (bone flesh blood).

17 Mar 1998 Ron _almost _loses his first chess match at Hogwarts: to Ginny, which would have been too good. She gets a draw.

19 Mar 1998 Four of the Dementors have self-healed, are flying again. We make more of the Patronus Pills.

20 Mar 1998 We use the pills to 'explode' the four from yesterday and two more who came back today. We have fifty more, can go on making them indefinitely.

24 Mar 1998 Fred and George report Wizarding economy almost nonexistent. Furious efforts to press most able-bodied adults into the Dark army, result is whole populations up and leave to avoid being recruited, try to blend into Muggle areas. Dark army now carries out punitive raids on Muggle areas, but in course of that there are waves and waves of desertions. We're breaking them, but what kind of casualties, what will be left afterwards?

26 Mar 1998 Seven more risen Dementors. Put down six, the seventh did not take the bait this time.

3 Apr 1998 Nine more risen Dementors, put down seven, two did not take the bait.

5 Apr 1998 Harry collapses in the hall, taken to Hospital Wing unconscious but still in terrible spasms.

6 Apr 1998 Long, awful day, no time to write now.

7 Apr 1998. Yesterday we visited Harry in the Hospital Wing. He said he'd 'talked' to Voldemort while unconscious, and described V as gaunt, peeling, spasming along with Harry, screaming "You'll die first, Potter," over and over. He was certain it wasn't a dream or illusion. Harry was still feverish, shaking, while talking to us, and Pomfrey was looking grim. So Hermione suggested transforming; perhaps he wouldn't feel the illness in the Animagus form.

Harry gathered himself, and there was "Jatayu" again. He seemed OK for a moment and we thought, Hermione's done it again. Then came the spookiest thing I ever saw in my life. This huge bird with immense staring eyes looked down at Hermione, _nodded_ its beak at her, _and said_ "I will finish this now."

Before we can get our wits back he'd launched himself at the window and tried to punch a hole in the glass with his beak. The glass is magically reinforced to prevent any escape, same barriers as the Hogwarts intruder wards -- essentially impassable -- and the bird was getting more and more frantic, screeching, pecking, clawing. We tried _Impedimenta_ and _Incarcerous_ and _Stupefy, _all six of us, and it was like throwing Quaffles at a Horntail. He threw himself wildly against the glass again and again, and it was clear he'd kill himself if he kept up. Finally Ginny thought to do the counter-spell to the Animagus transformation and Harry collapsed, dizzy but conscious, and we got him back into the bed. Hermione was near hysterics and Ron wasn't far behind, but they had each other; Luna and I went over to Ginny, and got her to stop hyperventilating.

It took about five minutes for all us to regain power of speech. Harry said that when he transformed he couldn't think of anything but getting to Voldemort and killing him, that it was like he was starving and could smell the food just outside. Pomfrey meanwhile was in the corner, muttering something to two of the medi-portraits and they were nodding glumly. She told Derwent to stay where he was but asked the other portrait to trade places with Phineas Nigellus from the Headmaster's Office -- he being the likely expert on the dark magic aspect of things, she explained to us, which wasn't reassuring. Nigellus returned, there were more consultations, and Pomfrey told us the consensus.

Almost certainly, the illness was the result of his ingesting parts of Voldemort. Harry had been "magically selected" to destroy Voldemort, so he was endowed both with the capacity and the drive to do so; that accounted for the furious urge to hunt his enemy, and the pain which came upon him when not hunting, like a hunger pain which reminds us we have to eat. Voldemort's feeling the identical symptoms was because he had some of Harry in him: Harry's blood, taken three years earlier when he came back. That blood hadn't poisoned him before, but now that each wizard contained parts of the other, the magic connection was completed, and was poisoning both. (Hermione tried to give an analogy in terms of electricity and circuitry but it didn't help any of us, not even Harry.)

We heard "poison" so we all waited to hear about the antidote. There is no antidote, Pomfrey said. There is no treatment. Not for either of them. The only way out, the only way to break the connection, was--

Harry interrupted: "was for either to die at the hands of the other; for neither can live while the other survives." Pomfrey and the portraits agreed.

Nigellus said that this kind of magic took nine months to kill. So starting October 31, Harry would have until July 31 -- his 18th birthday. And Voldemort would die at the same time. "So then it will all be over," Harry said, and we were all saying that he couldn't just let go like that. I was stunned that Ginny was the exception. Harry looked at her for her opinion, and she said "you have to be the one who wants to live, Harry." He said he did want to, but: "For almost three years now, since the end of the fourth year, when I saw him come back and kill Cedric... it's like that nightmare where I'm crawling away from a fire, trying to get to an exit, I don't know if I can open or not, and there's a giant stepping on me every foot of the way." Long pause. Hermione says, "you've been feeling that way for three years and never said anything about it, does it feel any better to get it out?" "No." Ron: "OK, you don't feel better for having said it. Do you feel better if we do this?" He embraces Harry; H resists at first, then sinks into it. "Yeah. Yeah it does."

8 Apr 1998 Harry comes back to the dorm, Ginny comes with him and stays the night, though not into Harry's bed. No discussion about it from either of them.

9 Apr 1998 Twelve more Dementors have revived; we put nine back down, three don't take the bait.

12 Apr 1998 Harry and Ginny considerably more intimate with each other now in public, hands often on one another, though nothing that Grandmother would object to. She would object to my taking such an interest in other people's sex lives. Sorry, Grandmother, it's one of the few normal things I have to look at now.

15 Apr 1998 Count now is fourteen Dementors who don't respond to the Patronus Pill anymore. We push them back with little difficulty.

20 Apr 1998 Fourteen Dementors pushed back last week joined by six more who've also don't go after Patronus Pill. We push the twenty back with little difficulty.

21 Apr 1998 Harry has a bad day again, needs another overnight stay.

22 April 1998 Death Eater appears in the Great Hall during breakfast! Acts disoriented, is stunned by more than a dozen students before he can get off a spell. Interrogated: he came via Portkey, made by Voldemort. Mission was to kill Harry (who was still in bed). V promised a place in his inner circle, governorship of Hogsmeade, all the Muggle slaves he could use, if he succeeded. DE confirms that V is sometimes too sick to function. Portkey was actually set to take him to Gryffindor 7th-year dorm (location known; V has some Gryffindors working for him, after all) during the night. Herm. explains it took incredible magical power to make a portkey take him through the wards, but the more power, the less precision in place and time. Also probably drained V for a day or more -- but we can't be sure. He'll keep trying until one of them succeeds, or until he dies, whichever comes first. If we assume one per day, though, that's 100 tries he's got until July 31. Odds are that eventually, one will find the dorm at 3 AM; could be tonight/tomorrow. Ron says, round-the-clock guards. Harry starts arguing No, Ron just ignores him and writes out a request for volunteers, explaining the situation, puts his name on list first. Then G, Hr, me, Luna sign, while Harry goes on talking. Harry blows up at this: he isn't going to hire his friends as bodyguards. Ginny : Tough luck, because that's all we've got here at Hogwarts, your friends. Herm. reminds him the oath was not to leave anybody behind in danger. Harry gives on this, but, 'If you're all going to stay up while I sleep and sleep while I'm up, when will I ever see any of you?' Awkward pause. We assure him we'll work out a schedule, there won't be any lack of volunteers.

24 Apr 1998 2nd Portkeyed DE, lands in kitchens at 1 AM, plastered against the wall by Dobby. Almost gets hexed himself when he pops into the dorm, proudly deposits his prize at the foot of Harry's bed.

25 Apr 1998 3rd Portkeyed DE, Astronomy Tower, stupidest place you could possibly land that time of night if you want to go unnoticed. Active Dementors up to twenty, still no major challenge.

8 May 1998 12th Portkeyed DE, Gryffindor 5th-year girls dorm, quickly overpowered.

9 May 1998 Active Dementors up to twenty eight, a couple of hours' work.

17 May 1998 19th Portkeyed DE, closest call yet: came in near the landing, didn't try to break down the entrance door (wouldn't have worked, would have alerted guards inside the dorm as well as us six), stays outside and casts a bloody brilliant spell that gradually sucks the air out of the room, our guards start to nod off but Lisa Turpin sees the others falling and raises a ruckus. Everybody casts Enervate on everybody, DE tries to flee and hide, but we find him and bind him quickly.

22 May 1998 Harry finally out of Hospital Wing, three nights this time.

24 May 1998 Still no really heavy H/G action. Sorry, Diary.

26 May 1998 Active Dementors up to forty-four, we put on regular shifts. Harry able to take part. Drive them back by mid-day.

29 May 1998 Colin Creevey died today. Got told the story later, didn't see it because today was the day the five of us got to sleep in. Portkeyed DE lands in Great Hall at ten, probably off by a mile from target in both time and place but lucky bastard has Harry's back in his sights as Harry's getting up from late breakfast. Colin is the bodyguard covering Harry's back. Avada Kedavara is out before Colin's wand, all he can do is stand and block it. He does.

Harry is more broken up about this than any of the others we've lost. Getting all of Colin's memories from last year -- just horrible to think about it.

1 June 1998 Peter Pettigrew turned himself in. After we drove back the Dementors, we saw the balding man standing out in the open just outside the West-side (Quidditch-side) wards, holding up a white flag. Harry dove towards him -- we would never have been able to catch him, stop him from killing Pettigrew if he wanted to -- but he just swept him up in a magical net and kept flying into the castle with him, like he had with those three the first day we came here. Dragged him up the stairs to the Headmaster's Office, never said a word, five of us running behind him. His story: came here to try to repay his debt to Harry and redeem himself as far as possible. Didn't kill Harry when he had a chance, bec. after looking him in the face and "it would have been like doing it to James again." Luna asks him about the regeneration spell that brought back Voldemort: the cauldron's primary potion was the Draught of Living Death. To which was added a vampire's fang. He couldn't understand why Voldemort demanded it.

Our heads are swimming. If this is right, Harry has two ways now to vanquish the Dark Lord: in his Animagus form, or with a strong enough Patronus. Problem is finding him. He won't face Jatayu again willingly, is almost certainly under Fidelius.

We have to win this. News continues to come in of terrible massacres of Muggles, of former wizarding villages completely deserted. Just before I started writing this, before going to bed, Luna showed me what she's been reading: the Egyptian Book of the Dead, and told me about the "Negative Confession." After death, the soul was examined by the gods and had to be able to swear never committing a series of sins and crimes. Most of them seemed petty stuff. I wondered what I would want to be able to say for myself, what all of us here could say for ourselves, if we had to plead our case before the gods and ask their blessing. We can't exactly say 'we have all been sexually pure' or 'we never cheated on an exam' or dozens of other things that would probably be on the Egyptian list if it got updated. I think we can say: we have never caused pain for sport; we have never deprived others of their chance at life or happiness; we have not failed the people who put their trust in us.

We may be guilty of any number of misdemeanors, but I say, not of any of the true crimes: cruelty, oppression, betrayal. Let it be enough.

_A/N: Thanks to all who are continuing to read this. In case I miss the deadline, here FWIW are my guesses about what The Deathly Hallows will show._

_Likelihood that Snape will be shown to have been following Dumbledore's instructions all along, including the instruction to kill him: 95 ._

_Odds on the following characters dying:_

_Ron: 1-4_

_Neville: even money_

_Ginny: 2-1_

_Harry: 3-1_

_Luna: 5-1_

_Hermione: 10-1_

_Odds that I will actually finish this before Deathly Hallows hits the bookstores: 2-1 against._

_Odds that if I do, anybody (including members of my family) will put Deathly Hallows aside to finish this version: 10100-1 against._

_I'm going to also guess that in the real book seven, as in this version, the 'power of love' which allows Harry to prevail is going to have a rather dark slant to it: the power to vividly remember the death and suffering of those he loved, such as Dumbledore; and that this was part of Dumbledore's reason for forcing Harry to witness the Headmaster's execution._

_Enjoy Book Seven!_


	10. Last Throes

_A/N: This is a revised version of the chapter, containing a few corrections of blunders in the who-what-when-where department and a couple of slightly more substantive changes near the end._

**x. Promises**

7 June 1998

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Prongs burst out of the wand, larger and brighter than ever, and looked back at Harry with a kind of patronal pride that brought a catch to his chest. Then the stag stiffened, tossed its head as if trying to shake off some attacker, and quickly dimmed and faded to nothing. Harry sighed in frustration and turned to his friends in the Room of Requirement.

"This is what happens every time. I start off thinking of the adoption, and it's the most powerful memory -- like I told you, I really see it as if I were there. But then I can't stop the memory from going on to Jack and Eileen being killed. I've tried, but once the memory starts, it won't be held back."

Ron expressed confidence that Harry had the willpower to pull it off. Neville asked about partial Obliviation. Hermione said this would be a tricky business, but she could look into it. Ginny said this would violate the pledge to remember each other, Ron argued that pledge was only binding for the ones who took it the first day at Hogwarts, Ginny asked if the Belfords weren't still supposed to be their comrades.

"Ginny's right," said Luna. "And I don't think Harry should try to forget their deaths at all."

"I'm not trying to forget their deaths, Luna; I'm just trying to get the image, of their ghosts crying, out of my mind for when I do the Patronus."

"You shouldn't try to do that either," Luna responded.

"Well, maybe I just have to find another Patronus memory," Harry said.

"No, I don't think so," said Luna. "This was a magical gift. It came to you at the right moment, to be used for exactly the task you need most. It wants to be used against Voldemort."

"Luna," Hermione said, "A Patronus is by definition invoked by a _happy_ memory--"

"That's the definition, yes. We obviously need to rewrite it."

"...and you can see what happens to it when the memory is contaminated by unhappy thoughts; it fades."

"Or maybe it's fading because Harry is struggling so much."

Harry invoked the Patronus once more, this time trying not to struggle. The result was the same.

"Maybe you need to stop trying so hard not to struggle," Luna suggested.

"You sound like Professor Bandhit," Harry grumbled. Nothing was going to be settled that day so the officers cut the practice short and went out to the Quidditch Pitch, six on three brooms.

----------

An idea had belatedly occurred to Neville about how to slow the Dementors' recovery process. Dementors, though apparently indestructible, were after all solid: they couldn't pass through barriers as ghosts could. Why not bury the bodies of those who had been knocked out by the Patronus Pills? Hermione was furious with herself for not thinking of this, but consoled when Neville said it was too simple an idea to take root in her subtle brain. And so the A.F.F. flew above the field of fallen Dementors and dropped loads and loads of soil on them, went back for more and repeated the mission, again and again, until no bony finger or hooded face was visible anywhere below them. Then they did their best to transfigure the soil to stone, knowing the transfiguration wouldn't be permanent but hoping it would still lengthen the time needed for the creatures to escape.

It did. Whenever the squads had finished driving off the immune Dementors, they checked back on the 'graveyard'. It was mostly quiet, but every now and then they would see a dark hand struggling up through the crusty ground from below, and they would pile on more soil, transfigure it again. Now there were mounds growing on the field, some almost shoulder-high, they were rumbling from the inside and nobody wanted to get too close to one to check out how sturdy the containment was. It seemed the Dementors' 'tombs', like themselves, were becoming magic-resistant, refusing to accept any further Transfiguration spells, until one by one they cracked and yawned open for their occupants to come forth.

There were forty of these escapees in the air on June 15th for the A.F.F. to drive away. Harry's was feeling pretty close to full strength, which seemed a stroke of good fortune for all since roughly one out of three days now found him in the Hospital Wing. The twelve dance teams went out to do their jobs, spread out in their usual pattern, then paused for one shocked moment as all forty Dementors instantly flew in straight, swift vectors whose arrows pointed right down Harry's throat.

The other squads, and Harry's also, were quick to send out their Patronus charms, and ordinarily these would have been even more devastating against a set of targets so bunched together. Now, however, though giving off shrieks of pain from the contact with their nemeses, the Dementors only retreated a small distance and returned on the double, like famished animals scenting a huge feast. They surrounded Harry in a sphere which blocked him from the view of his friends and comrades, who tried desperately to peel off the outer layers while Harry called on his memories for aid in pushing back the closest attackers.

_Seven photos, Christmas at Hogwarts. _"Expecto Patronum!"

_Your friends showing up by portkey at Grimmauld Place, Potter, the moment you saw you had brought them to their death_

"What?" Harry cried out. He knew that voice, of course, but it had been so long since he had heard it in his head while fully awake.

_The connection, Potter. It is strong enough now that you cannot keep me out. Look, they're coming for you again! My memories of your memories, projected back at you, it lights you up like a beacon for them, Potter. There -- your godfather, falling through the veil. _

_On the broom with Ginny. _"Expecto Patronum!"

_Weak, and getting weaker. 'Either must die at the hand of the other,' that was useful to learn. Here are my forty hands, Potter, grasping for you. You remember Colin being told by Dumbledore how I had killed his brother, he couldn't believe that Harry Potter, hero of heroes, had kept in his room rather than going out to save him? Of course you remember that, it came to you the moment he fell dead five feet from you, doing for you what you wouldn't do for his brother._

They were all around him now; his Patronus was only a fraction of its accustomed power, and their presence was having its accustomed effect.

_The last sounds you will ever hear, Potter, your mother begging for mercy, and my wiping the mudblood off my feet. I don't even need your memories to relive the moment I took her._

The Dementors were almost upon him. "She wasn't at your feet, you lying turd!"

_**Yes, Harry, I was. There was no room there for salvaging pride. There was only keeping between my child and his death.**_

"Mum?" Was this just another of Voldemort's projections, there to taunt him by confirming the story of his mother's degradation, or was this actually the Lily Potter of his own mind, the mother of so many of his interior conversations? "Mum, is that really you?"

And as he said the words, Harry recalled the answer his imagined mother had given him earlier to the same question, and heard the voice repeating it now: '_**...certain of nothing, except for the truth of the imagination, and the holiness of the heart's affections**_.'

With the Dementors now about to take him, Harry found mental breath for a last bit of spitting at his nemesis. "So maybe she was at your feet. She wasn't there because she was afraid of you, she was there because she loved me."

He waited for the hooded face to cover his and take away his soul, and looked up to see the hooded face was hovering still. If anything it was moving slightly backwards, like a fish struggling against a strong current and losing the fight. All the Dementors seemed to be struggling like that, and Harry felt a bolt of strength go through him as he realized what that current consisted of.

An inspiration came to him and he acted on it instantly. He ceased struggling against the tormenting image that the Dementors and Voldemort were eagerly forcing upon him now. He fixed it in his mind, as firmly as he could, that vision of his mother crying out for mercy then falling to her death. He added to it one thought, and let Prongs feed on that image and that thought together, and go on feeding, until he couldn't hold either back anymore and released them:

"_That's_ how much my mother loved me! _Expecto Patronum!_"

Harry only caught a tenth of a second's glimpse at the head of the stag emerging from his wand before being forced to shut his traumatized eyes. The light was so bright, after all that darkness, that he actually yelled out with the pain, then the sound of that yell was completely washed away by the screams of Dementors. He heard what had to be dozens of the high-pitched shrieks, but each one would end after a second or so, then another one would begin. When he finally felt able to open his eyes he could see Prongs chasing down another Dementor and goring him, and with this touch the Dementor simply crumbled to dust.

Harry let out a high giggly whoop and a yell of "_GET THEM, DAD!_" There were only a few Dementors left, but Harry noticed that Prongs himself was becoming a little smaller with each goring, as if the contact was baneful to him as well. His brightness was undiminished though, and stayed that way until a much diminished stag, almost a mouse-sized version, came cantering back to Harry's wand, bowed proudly in acceptance of Harry's grateful thanks, and disappeared.

Harry looked around. There were no Dementors left. Most of his friends were staring in various poses of shock, his closest ones were coming up to him with hugs and words of relief. The thought, _If I can't keep him out, maybe he can't keep me out, _occurred to Harry and he tried projecting this scene at his enemy: the sights, the sounds, the feelings of warmth from the two Weasleys draped around him. To his satisfaction, Harry could 'hear' a wrench of pain at the other end.

_Well, Tom, it looks like I've torn off forty of your hands. _

----------

For the next two weeks the Army of the Forbidden Forest did as much r&r as was possible and practicable inside a magical castle, while trying as well to anticipate what Voldemort had left in his quiver. (Hermione's guess was vampires, and all who were briefed on the countermeasures she had devised agreed that the creatures' fate would be swift and gruesome.) For Harry and Ginny there was a lot of time in the air, on two brooms or in tandem. Every square foot of the Pitch, air and ground, was now covered with hovering charms to slow a fall and softening charms to deaden the impact of one, in case Harry experienced a sudden attack while in the air. Harry said he rather hoped they would fail, so he could experience Ginny's rescue method once more instead.

On June 29 the attack came. Voldemort hadn't used the portkeys for some while now, and it was clear now he had been saving his energy for a mass invasion. That was one of the scenarios the officers had anticipated. They had not anticipated the invaders being McGonnagal, Moody, Lupin, Shacklebolt, Snape, Tonks and Hestia Jones. At first there were cries of rejoicing at the return of familiar professors and Order members, but then the glazed-eyed adults began hurling curses around the Great Hall. Next they grabbed some of the unconscious and semi-conscious students and made human shields of them. Then they looked around the Hall and quickly focused in on Harry.

"_Finite Imperium! Finite Imperium!" _Hermione's counter-curse had no effect on the adults. Harry began running, as per the invasion plan, hoping to draw attention away from the rest of the students and give his friends a chance to find the best-defended spots. His friends tried to keep between Harry and any curse from their teachers and seniors. The plan in such a situation was for the other students to find cover and snipe at the intruders, who would be torn between pursuing the fleeing Harry and defending themselves and thus less effective at both. But the students would be less effective now also, held back as they were both by fear of hitting a hostage and reluctance to harm an ally acting under Imperius.

Harry bluffed a dash around a corner and stopped to peak back around it using a 'periscope' charm. He could see the fighting between the elders and the students trying to slow down their pursuit, and itched to go back out, but remembered the other officers saying that the more visible Harry was, the more _Avada Kedavra_s would be thrown around. The adults were slowly forcing back the students. _Why didn't Hermione's spell break the Imperius_, Harry thought frantically. Then he realized he could 'consult' with the one who was guaranteed to know the answer.

_The Gryffindor is capable of thought. I'll indulge you, Potter. It won't make any difference if you know._

_Bullshit, Tom, you can't stop me from reading you. _He read that Voldemort was actually performing, not the ordinary Imperius which was one command after which the victim was 'released,' but active, ongoing, long-distance mind control. He hadn't known such a thing was possible.

_Of course not, Potter; you don't know a fraction of what I can do, and you never will. I'll give you some idea, though, in the ten minutes or so you have to live_And Voldemort began to project some of his most creative methods of torment and destruction at Harry.

Harry was able to ignore these. He had the answer, how to break Voldemort's hold on the Order members. He didn't think he could do it himself, though. "Ginny!" he shouted, "I need your help."

"Cover me," Ginny called to her allies, and zigzagged her way through the curses to Harry. The two started running down a hallway. "We have to find a room we can lock them out of," Harry said. The Room of Requirement was too far... "Defense classroom," Ginny said, and they made their way there. It was reinforced to prevent casual entry, given all the spells that could fly out and hit a thoughtless intruder.

"Listen," he said hurriedly to her. "You're the best person for this, in one way, and in another way you're the worst person I could have asked for. I don't mean -- forget it, no time. Thing is, I'm going to have to hurt myself. You're going to have to hold my hand steady on my wand, so I can keep doing it as long as it takes. Then if it works you'll need to do the healing charms. This is how to get Voldemort off -- it's the connection, you see." Harry was relieved that Ginny seemed to sense there was no time to object or argue; she gave a small, grim, nod of acknowledgment. "So when I -- Oh, damn, damn, _damn_... Oh shit damn and fuck it... oh God..."

"Harry, what--"

"Luna's starting her collection of magical beast figures. She's telling the other Ravenclaw firsties about her father's paper. She's..."

"Oh no. Oh, oh oh no..."

There was no time to settle their emotions, and in fact Harry saw that the one sliver of good to come of this would be the doubling of rage he would put into the Unforgiveable. _And how does that fit into my 'luck'?_ he thought he'd ask Luna if there turned out to be a next life. Harry pointed his wand at his own stomach.

_Give it up, Potter, you can't bluff me. You may think you will, but nobody can go through with that_

_You don't know a fraction of what I can do, Tom. _**"CRUCIO!"**

The pain ripped through him. Ginny, with her eyes closed and teeth grinding, held his wand hand firm and true, and the pain doubled and redoubled. _I can hold on longer than you can, longer than you can, longer... _And Tom was gone from his mind. Harry reached out and sensed him lying on the floor, half-unconscious and crying, and wondered through the ongoing agony if this was a trick, quickly decided _no, there's no question it's real, it has to be real_, and twisted his hand to turn the curse off himself. He suddenly realized in horror that he had given Ginny no instructions on when to hold on and when to let go -- _what if she thinks I really 'want' to keep going and this is just a reflex she has to fight, this could go on for--_? But Ginny quickly complied with his motion, and the curse was over.

Harry felt for a moment the unspeakable bliss of a cessation of unspeakable pain, then his body rebelled against the horrific abuse it had suffered under the curse and began quaking with remembered pain, almost as bad as the real pain from the worst injury he'd ever suffered... Ginny tried to cast the pain-relief spells, but her voice and wand were shaking too badly at first. She quickly and vigorously cursed herself, and that talking-to seemed to do the trick. The next healing charms went off perfectly, and Harry was able to lie down and relax some of the tension that had been crushing his muscles and nerves.

"Ought to check if the... oldies... are out of it," he muttered. Ginny performed a Lookout spell on the door, creating a one-way window, and reported that the fighting seemed over.

Ginny did some further healing charms, then lay down next to Harry and folded him into her arms. "How's this treatment supposed to work?" he asked. "Shut up," she explained.

After a few quiet moments, Harry said, "I wasn't complaining, you know." Then the banging started on the door, and Ron and Hermione were calling for them. Ginny opened the door and gave them the short-course in reassurances.

With the door open, Harry could hear Neville shouting something in a tear-choked voice, and a confusing rush of voices and footsteps responding to that. He seemed to be calling out orders... something to do with Snape... This sounded ominous, and Harry realized that with the four of them in here now, and Luna gone, Neville would be the highest-ranking person in the hall so far as the rest of the students were concerned. He'd better go out and see.

Harry was recovered enough to go out under his own powers, and saw the A.F.F. holding their wands on the confused and frightened looking adults, with Snape having been thrust forward and held roughly by Anthony Goldstein, Eleni Roil

Landon Fitz and Eleanor Branstone. Neville, injured and bleeding badly from his left arm, was cursing Snape and promising he would pay. Snape was trying to look down and snarl intimidatingly at Neville, but every sneer and sarcasm was being met by a sharp thrust of Neville's wand into Snape's stomach, to the shock and outrage of Professor McGonnagal who was frantically screaming at him to stop and come to his senses this instant. The students gave no heed to their Deputy Headmistress' orders, some even waving wands threateningly in her direction. It was this scene the quartet came upon.

"Harry, Ginny," Neville said, "I'm glad you're OK. You are OK, right? He, Snape, he killed Luna."

"This is madness," Snape cried, "why would I want to harm Miss Lovegood?"

"You were under Imperius, Professor," Hermione answered, but Neville shook his head. "No, he's a Death-Eater, he was just pretending--"

As Ginny cast a temporary spell to stop Neville's bleeding, Harry put his hands on his shoulders, started to give him a hug of consolation but wasn't sure if it would be wanted or accepted now, or if he knew how to do it right, settled for a light squeeze. "He's not a Death Eater, Neville."

"Yes he is, the bastard, the murdering bastard, he -- LOOK AT HIM, still practicing his fucking smirk! You think I have to put up with shite from you now, Snape?" Harry wrestled Neville's wand-arm down. If there had been a smirk on Snape's face it had completely disappeared and been replaced by a mixture of disbelief and fear by the time Harry glanced at him.

"Neville, he's not a Death Eater. I know who Voldemort thinks is loyal to him, right? And who he knows he has to put under control. They were all under his control, everyone, including Snape."

Neville finally gave in to the logic of this. The other members of what was now the quintet of officers came over to support their friend, and the students stood down from high alert. After a quick diagnostic for Harry, Ginny left his side to take Neville more or less in hand, and pulled him away to sit somewhere quieter. From there, Harry could see Madame Pomfrey coming and leading Neville away, presumably to the Hospital Wing.

Snape apparently took Neville's departure as his cue to try restoring the authority of the adults. "Well, Potter," he began, "I see that you aren't completely devoid of sense after all." Harry gave a tired sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You'd rather die than say 'thank you' to me. Just forget it." Harry had already started walking away from the Potions professor to talk to Moody, see if he had any advice on what to watch for now, when Snape drew himself up. "Very well, children. It's time to put an end to whatever schoolboy fantasy you have been living out and let the adults take over now. Perhaps it would be safer if I had your wand for safekeeping, Mr. Potter."

More than two hundred wands were instantly pointed at Snape. Harry felt a bit of captain's pride that nobody had cast an unauthorized spell yet. Professor McGonnagal spoke out now, angrily demanding that this threatening of instructors cease immediately, and dozens of wands turned on her.

There were angry shouts on both sides, until Hermione called for quiet, which was immediately granted. She took a moment's breath and addressed the adults, particularly McGonnagal and Snape. "Professors, when this is a school again, of course you'll be back in charge. But this isn't a school now, it's a fortress in a time of war. This fortress is holding the only army which is putting up a resistance against Voldemort, and Harry is the ranking officer in that army. He was confirmed in that position by Professor MacGregor, you remember. So until this war is finished, Harry's in command here. Nobody else."

There was a roar of "Hear, hear!" from the student body which seemed to goad Snape further. "Why all this loyalty to a bungling adolescent with a hero complex?" he shouted. "I didn't see him performing any grand deeds of military prowess just now, I only saw him and Miss Weasley coming out from a room where they had been closeted, for what purpose--" "SNAPE!" Ginny's voice cut through Snape's monologue, "if you don't want to have a flock of bats flying out of your abnormally large nose, you will shut your ignorant mouth _right now_." Snape's eyes blazed with resentment, but he followed the instruction. Ginny continued. "I don't suppose you wondered -- did any of you? -- how you broke out of the Imperius curse? Do you think you all did it yourselves, simultaneously? Well you didn't."

When she explained how Harry had done it, there were gasps all through the hall, from the youngest to the eldest, and expressions of gratitude. Lupin pushed his way over to check on Harry, and Harry realized he had been so caught up in things he hadn't had a chance to feel his own rush of gratitude at seeing the old Marauder again, and so many other members of his magical family. He let himself feel it now, and gave Moony a good long hug to confirm his presence.

Even Snape could not get out of offering that historic, first "thank you, Potter." "You're welcome," Harry returned equally flatly, but Ron had more to say.

"I don't think it's a good idea if you stay around us, professor. There's just too much bad blood. We all know that Harry can't concentrate while you're around always digging at him, and he can't afford that kind of distraction."

"What exactly are you saying Mr. Weasley?"

"I'm saying, Mr. Snape, that we're giving you detention. Will you kindly confine yourself to the potions laboratory and try to employ your limited abilities towards something useful."

And the storm-faced professor finally walked out with as much dignity as he could through a gauntlet of silly smiles from the students.

Harry turned to Ron. "You've got to put that in a pensieve."

"Good idea, mate. I could probably sell viewings for a galleon a pop."

"Yep. I guess we can all die happy now."

"Yep."

----------

The officers (including a pale and red-eyed Neville) and the adults (minus Snape) were sitting around a table discussing how they came to Hogwarts. As Moody explained, they were all at Order headquarters, entering their tenth month of entrapment, when Dumbledore said he sensed a weakening in the wards.

"With all of Voldemort's illnesses," Hermione reasoned, "and all the efforts he put into the portkeys, I suppose that was to be expected." Moody nodded.

"Dumbledore couldn't break himself out," he continued, "the wards have a reflective property, the stronger the magician pushing to get out, the stronger they snap back. But if he put his power into pushing someone _else_ out, he thought he could manage it."

"But if that would work," Hermione said, "then the thing to do is have the second-weakest magician liberate the weakest, the third-weakest liberate the second-weakest, and so on. Then only Dumbledore would be left."

Moody gave a crooked grin. "It took the eight of us about half an hour to figure out what you just took five seconds to see yourself."

"So who went first?" Ron couldn't help asking.

"Never you mind, sonny. I _can_ tell you who was the _last_ to be pushed out" -- Moody looked remarkably smug for a one-eyed man -- "but you've probably already figured that. Problem was, they were waiting for us, and coming out one by one we were sitting ducks. I was saying there should be an 'all-clear' signal from the first one out, but no, too much of a hurry, can't let this opportunity pass, et cetera. I think we were mostly too addled with cabin fever to think straight. So we got taken to You-Know-Who's layabout, and you know the rest."

"What I don't get," Ron said, "is why would he wait for you to come out, if he had the forces to overpower you anyway."

"That's the nature of the reflective ward, Ron," Lupin answered. "It gets its power to draw us in and keep us in at a price: it also keeps others out, even those who cast the ward in the first place. Every spell has some price, some drawback."

The exposition was interrupted when a student came to report that a Death Eater had been spotted just outside the wards, carrying a white flag. This messenger was disarmed and brought in, where he announced he had been instructed to deliver a letter from "Our Lord." The letter came out and spoke for itself:

_Greetings to my once and future prisoners. I am delighted to hear that Severus has not forgotten his spellwork. I may be able to make use of him yet._

_I have been lenient up until now with the Muggle population, even as they continue to provide a hiding place for many of my foes and for those who seek to escape my Laws. This will not continue. Thousands, tens of thousands, will feel my power, beginning the first of July. Potter can confirm this if you doubt it; I am forcing the plans upon his attention as I speak._

_You ask how long I might delay this, whether you might beg still further lenience towards your pets. I am willing to grant this favor, if you send me Potter. Not as a bound prisoner, I know you would toss the Muggles' lives aside rather than give up all hope that way. I only require a duel. Myself and four of my servants, and your choice of opponents. You can delude yourselves into thinking you might win, can you not? At least, until:_

_Tomorrow, 30 June, 8:53 PM _

_Fortinax Rules of Dueling. _

_Your choice of location._

_You will always have a place in history among those killed personally by,_

_Your Master,_

_Lord Voldemort_

"What's 8:53 PM?" Tonks asked.

"I'm sure he's drawn up an astrological chart" said Moody. "But I don't see any centaurs around to give us any better idea."

"Yeah," Harry said, "He thinks the power of Jupiter will be strongest then, he thinks that's his planet. But never mind that; he's really going to do it, he's ready to kill thousands, more. Kill and torture. We can't do nothing."

"I know that, Potter. But why is he so insistent on doing it right away, though? He can't wait another day?"

"He might not live much longer than that," said Harry, and explained what Pomfrey and Nigellus had told him. The faces paled around him, and Lupin looked like he'd just been through the transformation. "Phineas said we had probably nine months, until end of July. Maybe Tom's worried about premature delivery. Maybe he's right, because we haven't half been tearing at each other."

Moody decided to get down to business before the atmosphere got too maudlin. "Alright, then, five against five, Fortinax Rules. That means simultaneous spells, so no advantage to the quick caster, don't know how that helps him, no restricted spells, that means Unforgiveables are in, does help him, spellwork only, no physical attack--"

"That definitely helps him," said the students, virtually in chorus, knowing that way Voldemort freed himself from the threat of Jatayu. Moody looked at them but decided to await explanation later. He continued:

"No attack on anybody but your direct opponent, so no ganging up, that cuts both ways--"

"Much better for their side," Ron said. "We know how to fight as a team."

Moody looked puzzled at the use of the 1st-person plural pronoun, but didn't stop to ask for an explanation. "All duels to the death, survivor of one duel to meet survivor of other until all are dead from one side or the other. That about covers it. So, five against five, their side will be You-Know-Who and, I'd guess Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix, who else?--"

"Dolohov and Draco," Harry replied.

"_Draco_?" Ron asked incredulously. "That's just... _humiliating_."

"Yeah, well, we've got pretty much everybody else with a pureblood name under wraps, don't we?"

"Yeah, but _Draco_?"

"Alright, that's their lineup," Moody said. "So the five of us, I'd make it me, Shacklebolt, McGonnagal, Snape, Tonks." There were groans and shakes of the head from the student side, and Remus Lupin cleared his throat. "I know you want in too, Lupin," Moody said, "but you're not one of the strongest five, you know. No offense."

"I'm not offended, Alastor, I just think you're forgetting something. Voldemort demands a duel with _Harry_. And even if he didn't, you know what the prophecy says."

"Of course. You're right Remus, stupid of me. So it's Potter, me, Shacklebolt..." There were even louder groans again from the student side. "Alright Potter," Moody snapped, "what's your suggestion?"

"It's me, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville. And it's not a suggestion."

"Damn right it's not," Ron said.

"And please, Professor," said Neville, "don't tell us you know how to deal with them, because we're the ones who've been winning all the battles while you've been getting yourselves captured by Voldemort."

"Not to mention the fact," Hermione went on, "that once you've been a victim of Imperius, you're particularly susceptible to the influence of the one who cast it. If any of you are there, and Voldemort stares at you, your ability to fight goes way down."

"She's got you there, Alastor," said Lupin. Professor McGonnagal was still pleading with her five Gryffindors. "Harry, what you've done here -- what you've all done -- is absolutely incredible and you must believe we are all bursting with pride and gratitude, but you are still students, you are still--" Hermione interrupted. "Professor McGonnagal, when we first got here and we realized what was happening, I thought Oh, if only we can just hold out until the teachers and the aurors and the ministers come, they'll come and save us. But that was a lifetime ago. It's our fight now."

"But Hermione..."

"Please, Minerva," said Lupin. "Leave it. None of us wants to see this, but these things have their own fate."

And so it was conceded. As the meeting ended and the adults left, Hermione came over to kiss Harry's cheek. "What was that for?" he asked, and Ron chuckled. It was Ginny, though, who answered: "Because, a year or two ago you would have taken Moody up on the offer; you would have said 'I can't put you in danger'..."

"I guess I understand some things better now."

"_Some_ things," Ginny agreed.

_A/N: __HPATSOH__ started out as the long backstory of "The Flourish and Blotts Hour." That piece became AU after __Half-Blood Prince__, and this story is now going to be an AU of "Flourish and Blotts," because one character will die who lived on in the earlier work (one of the characters most of us very much don't want to see die). If you very strongly dislike that idea, please wait until a revised version of __HPATSOH__ comes out on Phoenixsong dot net; again, that version __will__ keep the "Flourish and Blotts" characters flourishing._

_In any case, thanks to everybody who reviewed or listed the story and I hope everybody enjoyed _Deathly Hallows_ as much as I did!_


	11. Either Must Die

**xi. Either must die**

As young and old filed out of the conference, Harry felt relief that he hadn't been asked why Voldemort wanted a five-on-five duel rather than a simple single combat with Harry. Moody had offered the supposition that You-Know-Who was thinking of taking Hogwarts from within (after his expected dueling victory) and wanted the support of allies in that fight. His first move, the old Auror went on, would probably be to get to the dungeons and release all the Death Eater POW. Ron concurred, and began talking about a counterstrategy. _A strategy which would only go into effect if he were dead, if we all were dead, _Harry thought.

Harry knew that wasn't Voldemort's reason for inviting Lucius and the rest. The Dark Lord had taken pleasure in telling Harry the real purpose, and had even offered -- with no mental pressure required on Harry's part, just as a 'gift' -- a method by which Harry could thwart it. _You would never have seen that yourself, would you, Potter? And even now that you know it, you can't use it, or even tell your friends that it exists._ Voldemort laughed at Harry's dilemma, and went on laughing into his mind until the sound become a kind of background noise which Harry was able to ignore. That process took hours.

James and Lily did not laugh, of course, but they did not seem supportive at first of their son's decision.

"If I tell them what Voldemort is planning," Harry pleaded, "I know what will happen; even if I don't give the counter, Ron will see it. It will be like in first year, the chessboard--" Harry thought of Ron talking with Moody just before, eyes gleaming as he worked out moves and countermoves. "He'll see how the sacrifice will put me in position to win, he'll jump at it--"

"And isn't that what you were so proud of us for, Harry?" his father said, "that we would have died for each other, that's what made us different from Peter--"

"It isn't the same thing, Dad! You didn't have the chance I have, I know how to beat him, if I'm strong enough I will beat him, that way Ron doesn't have to die, nobody else has to die for me. Don't you believe I'm strong enough?"

"Together with your friends, Harry," Lily said, "I know you are."

"That's not what I'm asking, Mom."

"Did you win any of these battles here by yourself, Harry?" asked James.

_Why were they refusing to give him a straight answer?_ "This is different, this is a duel. You have to tell me you think I can win, otherwise how can I... I don't think I can go in there if you don't--"

"Shh, shh. Of course, darling. Of course you can"

"You know we believe in you, son. It will be all right. It will work out in the end."

"OK, ok then." Harry felt satisfied by this statement of faith. He went on to seek reassurance on another question. "Way back last year when I was talking to Bandhit about facing Voldemort, he kept saying I should make it 'impersonal.' Not get caught up in the taunting, or in answering the taunting, not to think of the pleasure he gets from destroying people, not to dream about the look on his face when I get him. He said to just think of him as a disease, said 'You don't have to have your vengeance on a disease, and you don't have to take what it says seriously. You just do your best to get rid of it so it doesn't cause any more pain or death.' " Harry paused.

"Go on, Harry" his father said.

"Thing is, I can't do that," Harry confessed. "No matter how many of the exercises I do, I can't think of it that way. When Ginny and I were in the Defense room, after I sensed he was knocked out, after only -- what was it, four seconds? five seconds? That's _nothing_ for when he's on the other side, doing the cursing, then it's fifteen seconds minimum, and that's for his _followers_ when they 'displease' him. For his enemies, no limit. And I thought, I thought I hated him before, but now, this tops it all, that he just falls down crying because he can't take a fraction of a fraction of what he gives out... I was screaming at him, '_Get up you wanker, you piss-pants coward, I've got plenty more for you_.' And I was really on the verge of doing it again, even though I didn't have to, even though it would have hurt me so badly, as long as it was even more intolerable to him it would be worth it. Does that make me crazy?"

"You know we would never call you that, son," said his father.

"Evil? Because--"

"Absolutely not," his mother insisted.

"...because it sounds now like _I'm_ being the cartoon villain, the cackling sadist--"

"I think it shows, Harry," said James, "that you aren't cut out to for the detached, philosophical life, the life of a sage. Not everybody is. Sirius and I weren't. But right now, the wizarding world doesn't need a sage."

"OK."

"And another reason you didn't go through with it," Lily said, "was that you didn't want to give further pain to Ginny, if she saw you do that to yourself. And that brings up another point we need to make," Lily said.

"I know, Mum"

"There's not much point now in keeping a distance because of what the military situation requires--"

"I know, Dad."

"...or because your feelings are still uncertain. They aren't, are they?"

"No, Mum."

"Can you go in to the duel with anything unsaid that needs to be said, anything not done that needs to be done?"

"No, Dad."

"Alright, Harry. I'm looking forward to seeing some fast moves and some quick progress."

"James!"

"On a spiritual level, dear."

_And I've got to keep her brother from killing himself for me, or I won't be able to look her in the face again_, he thought, though he did not share this thought with his parents.

----------

There was so much to do the next day: last-minute practice, last-minute preparations, last-minute -- just in case! -- goodbyes. There was also the service for Luna, which Moody wanted to put off to give time for further drill. The officers were having none of that, and the memorial went forward. The adults were not invited, none of them having really known her, even McGonnagal, and the officers were afraid their elders would set Neville off by muttering time spells (the wizard equivalent of conspicuously staring at one's watch). Harry had a quick waking nightmare that he would be kept running and running right up to the moment he raised his wand against Voldemort, and never have a chance to talk to her. At about 3 PM there seemed enough of a lull to let them catch their breath, and he urgently begged a private meeting. He didn't know how much time they would have, in either sense of that phrase, but he trusted that for now Ginny would supply the missing words and thoughts wherever needed in his rush of incomplete sentences.

"My parents said I couldn't leave things unsure," were his first words. "I reckon they're right."

"I think you are, too. You do understand some things better now, really."

"OK. You know I had -- thought I had reasons, maybe idiot reasons--"

"Let's not go through them now, Harry."

_God bless you._ "Right. I couldn't have gone through that yesterday, the _Crucio_, I don't think, with anybody but you. Ron, Hermione, they would have fought and glowered, and Neville or Luna--" Harry had to stop to get his voice back -- "they're brilliant, they're terrific friends, but, they aren't, don't--"

"But if you're going to be in that kind of pain, you want somebody with you, who you know, know for sure, loves you."

Harry took a moment to look at this girl, and another to make sure she was looking at him. "Ginny, you don't think it was just... one-sided, do you? If it was, what would that make me, for calling you in like that to watch me get tortured, and patch me up and hold me and then... send you off. If that was what I was, you couldn't feel that way about me, could you? Not you."

"I don't know, Harry. I like to think that I wouldn't, be like some girl under the influence--" Ginny took a deep breath now and didn't complete the sentence, and Harry realized what or who she was thinking of.

'You wouldn't. I know you, Ginny, you would spit in the eye of anybody who tried to use you like that. You would fight them."

Ginny nodded, settled herself, and looked Harry in the eye.

"All right, then," she said firmly, "the answer is, No, I don't think that you have no feelings for me. Now, we're going in to fight some dark wizards in a little while, so do you want to just leave it at that, as a double negative, or is there something you have to say to me now?"

Harry froze for a moment. There was something in the way she had said that which reminded him so much of her mother, it threw him quite off his game... Ginny shook her head in exasperation, then took his hands in hers.

"It doesn't have to be words," she said more softly, and he knew he couldn't expect and wouldn't deserve another or better chance. If this was going to substitute for the words he'd been let out of, he thought, he would have to mix into this kiss a delicate combination of passion and esteem, regret for lost time and eagerness to make up for it, wonder at being chosen, pride at being thought worthy of it... _and if you go by Potions, _he thought,_ I'm rubbish at this kind of measuring and mixing. _But somehow this time -- he could tell from what he was hearing back from her in response -- he seemed to be doing quite well enough. When they finally broke apart, flushed and grinning, a thought came to Harry that might have seemed ominous but somehow didn't carry any gloom with it:

_Whether I live through this or not, this is the last girl I'm ever going to kiss like that._

----------

It was seven p.m. The Headmasters' portraits explained the mechanics of arranging the duel: the Room of Requirement could transfigure itself into an appropriate hall, complete with a master judge who would have power to enforce the rules. The wards could be arranged to allow the dark wizards to portkey into that room only. But if those challengers did win, they would be able to open the door and invade the rest of Hogwarts. Thus final instructions went out to the Army of the Forbidden Forest, in conjunction with the members of the Order, about what to do if the first face they saw coming out of the Room of Requirement was not one of the five officers. They would have to prevent Voldemort from taking Hogwarts and turning its magic to his cause, from releasing the prisoners and rebuilding the Dark Army, an army that would then take complete control of a wizarding world demoralized by the loss of its last unconquered outpost and by the defeat and death of its promised savior.

Neville felt that he had to say something to the hundreds now assembled in the Great Hall. (It was after eight o'clock now.) "I know -- you all know," he said, "that if we wanted to, we wouldn't have to worry about the Death Eaters going back to their master." He paused in the dead silence. "And I'm proud of everybody here, and I know Luna would be, too, that even though we are all scared and we all owe them so much payback, nobody has even suggested it. I wouldn't have been able to go in there, I wouldn't have... been worth anything as a defender of Hogwarts, if Hogwarts was just the scene of anything as cold blooded as that." Harry immediately felt the rightness of this, and stepped forward to shout "Me neither!" and then Hermione gave her full-throated approval, then Ginny and Ron and dozens of voices were joining in all around the room. Neville asked for quiet, so he could continue. "But now, this is -- being chosen to be one of the Five Defenders--" and Neville choked out the last words, "I'll give every breath I have to make you proud of me too!" These words were delivered so thickly, so softly, they would never had been heard if the Great Hall had not been breathlessly silent, and they stayed silent for a moment as Neville wiped his eyes and stepped back to be embraced by his friends. Then Susan Bones cried out "You'll do it, Neville!" and Hannah Abbot shouted "We already are, Neville!" and amid the cheers Justin Finch-Fletchley yelled "Neville for Minister!" Neville and the other officers smiled and laughed along with the crowd at that.

It was close to eight thirty now, and Hermione had something to say also. "It's June 30, and we should have been finishing our exams a few days ago." "_It's an ill wind that blows no good!_" one voice responded, and it was greeted with laughter. Hermione gave a perfunctory smile at that and continued. "And today would have been graduation day for the seventh years. We didn't have time for that today," [laughter "so _tomorrow_, Harry, Ron, Neville and I expect--" and in the absolute thunderstorm of approving bellows that followed, the words "we expect to have a proper ceremony," were never heard, though perfectly understood.

"But for those of you who don't want to wait," she continued, "I've had a kind of substitute certificate made up, for everybody here, not just the seventh years. So with Deputy Headmistress McGonnagal's approval--" The Gryffindor Head of House gave a fond nod to her pupil, and Hermione then levitated the boxes containing all the parchments to the tables, from whence they dispersed to their proper recipients. These "diplomas" bore nothing but the name of each young witch or wizard, along with the declaration:

_Hogwarts 1997-1998_

_None of us failed._

_None of them passed. _

It was a quarter to nine, and it was time for the five to make their way to the Room of Requirement. Harry cast the spell to drop the wards; all the radios in Hogwarts, virtually forgotten for so many months, crackled to life and a chorus of choruses sang:

_**Ju**__ - - __**dex**__ - - __**cre**__ - de __**ris**__ - - __**es**__ se ven __**tu**__ - - __**rus**_

"Berlioz, _Te Deum_," Hermione said. " '_We believe in the judgment to come_'."

while the sound from a massive organ and massed orchestras pounded repeatedly beneath the words,

_**Ju**__ - - __**dex**__ - - __**cre**__ - de __**ris**__ - - __**es**__ se ven __**tu**__ - - __**rus**_

making the message of the inescapable day of trial come inescapably through, even to those who hadn't heard Hermione's translation.

_**Ju**__ - - __**dex**__ - - __**cre**__ - de __**ris**__ - - __**es**__ se ven __**tu**__ - - __**rus**_

The officers, rooted in place for a moment, started to walk to their appointment, and now the hall began to follow them, calling out their names, shouting words of faith and encouragement. Quickly one chant, small at first, drew the others around it like a crystal: "GO, GO GRYFFINDOR!" as loudly from the Ravenclaws as from the Gryffindors, as loudly from the Hufflepuffs as from either. The radios sang, now less ominously, more pleadingly:

_**Sal**__ - - __**vo**__- - - __**fac**__ - - __**pop **__- u __**lum, **__(save Your people)_

The officers were at the door now. Moody took up his position just outside, as first responder, and had his wand out and pointed, just in case. Harry had no doubt Mad-Eye would be in exactly the same spot, holding precisely the same posture, if and when they came out. Harry came to the door, and turned back to the students just as it was opening. The chanting and cheers subsided.

_**In**__ - - __**te**__ - - __**do**__ - mi __**ne**__ - spe __**ra**__ - - __**vi**__ - - __**non**__ - con __**fun**__ - - __**dar**__ - - __**in**__ - ae __**ter**__ - - __**num**_

(_We have trusted in You, Lord; do not leave us confounded_.)

"See you in a bit," Harry said, and the student body exploded again in cheers and shaking of fists. The five officers entered the room, closed the door behind them, and the sounds quickly died down, though Harry could have sworn he still heard the radios playing the Te Deum, and the students camped outside whispering to themselves_ "Please, please, God" _and _"Come on, Harry" _and _"Tomorrow, it'll be over, I'll see Mum and Dad again. Tomorrow_."

Harry looked now for the first time at the transfigured room, and his glance was drawn first to the four Death Eaters already facing him from the opposite side. Between their group and his stood two rows of slightly raised platforms separated by about five meters. There were five to a row, naturally, each about one square meter in size, and about one foot away from its neighbor on the left and or right. Standing between the two rows was an eldern Knight in medieval robes, a pentangle emblazoned on his chest and a green sash around his waist. In his right hand he held a long staff.

"We await the last challenger," the Knight said to Harry. Harry nodded and looked over the enemy. Lucius looked ghastly, so thin and frail he seemed in danger of shattering with the first hex; evisceration, Harry figured, even when reversed, would make digestion of food a difficult business. Bellatrix's left arm, or the area where that arm used to be, was too well covered by a flowing robe to see, but Harry knew it was a block of yew wood now. Dolohov had horrible red scarring on the right side of his face, no doubt inflicted by one of the dragons whose mating ritual he had dared try meddling with. Only Draco still looked relatively intact.

"Well," Ron declared, "I see the four little farts are here, so where's the long snaky turd?" There were outraged howls at this blasphemy, and the flyting contest was on. "I know, he wants to make a big entrance," Ron yelled over everybody else. "Is he putting on his makeup before he comes swanning in? It won't help, you know." The Knight looked on at the trash talk impassively, just making certain no spells were cast or blows struck. Finally the Dark Lord appeared, and his followers broke off the contest to turn and kneel to him. After accepting these tributes, Voldemort looked at Harry. "Potter," he began, but did not get another syllable out before the Knight cracked his staff on the ground three times and called for order.

"The two companies are complete," the Knight announced. "Each captain, declare your name, your companions' names, and your cause. The challenger first." He inclined his head to the tall figure and gestured him to begin. The challenger was not accustomed either to being interrupted or instructed, and directed an angry glare at the Knight, which made no impression at all. The Dark Lord spoke.

"I am Lord Voldemort, and my--"

"I know of no peer by that name."

After a moment's pause of astonishment at this impudence, the Dark Lord turned in fury to the Knight. "Perhaps it is a name you fear to speak. I am Lord Voldemort. Put that name down on your list."

The Knight barked out a short laugh. "Believe me, sir, however much your power might surpass mine outside of this room, inside it I am the judge, and Hogwarts gives me whatever the judge requires. And I say, there is no such name in my book. You must give your true name or the duel will not proceed."

The dark challenger bit back his fury and grudgingly declared himself. "I am Tom MARVOLO Riddle. My seconds are Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco Malfoy, and Lucius Malfoy."

"And your cause?"

"_What_?"

"Your cause, sir, the cause for which you challenge your opponent."

After a moment's pause, Tom Marvolo Riddle stated, "We fight to purify the wizarding world," and made a move to mount the dueling platform, only to find the Knight barring the move with his staff. In a wild rage, the dark wizard raised his wand. The Knight frowned and shook his head. Riddle and the Knight stared at one another for some seconds, then Riddle at last put back his wand.

"I am here to remove an enemy who opposes me," he said at last.

The Knight nodded, and Riddle took the center platform and waved his four servants into their positions. From left to right, then (as Harry saw them), were Draco, Dolohov, Riddle, Lucius and Bellatrix. Harry provided his name, and those of his friends. Their cause, he blurted out, was "the defense of Hogwarts and the people in it." This was accepted.

"The defenders will now take their places."

Harry sent Ron to his far left to face Draco, Hermione to the near left against Dolohov, himself of course opposite Riddle, Ginny to his near right confronting Lucius, and Neville far right against Bellatrix. Ron grumbled at his assignment at first, but then saw what huge helpings of poetic justice the other matchups offered and gave his best friend a smile of satisfaction and a thumbs up gesture. Harry grinned back, thinking also _and it give you a bit further to go, makes it a bit less likely that you'll come running out, mate._

"The rules are as follows: duelists must each cast spells only upon the judge's mark: that is, you may not attempt to cast a second spell before the signal is given for another exchange; spells may only be cast against your opponent, on the platform opposite you; any spell may be cast, without restriction, even those prohibited outside this room; no physical attack is permitted; no dueler may leave the platform--"

Harry tapped Hermione furtively on the side and she quickly glanced towards him; Harry indicated Ron and the platform with a roll of his eyes; Hermione nodded in understanding and agreement. The process had taken a half a second, at most, but both parties understood the dialogue: _HP: Make sure Ron keeps on the platform! You know what he's like, he'll get carried away and forget. HG: Right, I'll cover it. _

"All duels are to the death," the Knight continued. "The first fighter to defeat his or her opponent will next fight against the first on the other side to defeat hers or his; violation of any of these rules means forfeit and death; the duel will be concluded when all on one side have been vanquished. Are there any questions?"

There were none.

"Do the captains have any final words for one another?"

Harry shook his head no, anxious to get on with it. Voldemort wouldn't, couldn't, let the last chance for taunting go. The rant contained something about the pleasure of seeing him die face to face, something about how he would probably see all his friends die for him first, something about what Tom was going to do after he won the duel and freed his followers, and by now Harry felt nothing but mounting annoyance at this tedious cawing, cawing, cawing, until without even thinking about it he found himself pointing a broad, black wing towards his foe and calling out through his beak:

"Enough, fool, enough cackling, enough! You lost the right to breathe and to speak long ago. _You usurp the air, the blessed air, dead thing!_"

Jatayu looked on in amusement as Voldemort gave a sudden cry of fear, turned to the Knight, and rapidly babbled, "That's-- that's a transformation, that's not allowed under Fortinax, he's-- he can't do that, he can't use that against me, it's a violation, he forfeits--" all the while Ron was shouting "Get the mustard! Who brought the mustard!"

The Knight gave a glance in Harry/Jatayu's direction, and the transformation was instantly reversed. "The animagus transformation is prohibited in Fortinax rules, _once_ the duelhasbegun. Do you understand this, Harry Potter?" Harry nodded, still feeling a bit of Jatayu's smugness about the scene.

"Are there any further statements before the duel begins?" An idea occurred to Harry, and he turned to his former schoolmate. If it worked, it would make sure Ron was safe -- safer, anyway. _It would save Draco too_, he thought, and felt surprised to discover that there was nothing repulsive in that idea, that there was something hopeful in the notion that every Hogwarts student who was here now would walk away from this alive.

"Malfoy -- Draco -- you don't have to be here. You've got nothing to gain from _them_," he spat out the pronoun, "even if you won. You can still live, and start over, if you leave now." Draco's first reaction was disbelief, of course, but for a moment Harry could see a seed of hesitation, of consideration for the idea. Then Draco's head was _snapped_ to his left as by a powerful magical chain, Draco looked into the furious eyes of the one he had pledged himself to, and the seed died. Harry gave his school rival-turned true enemy a few seconds to proclaim his contempt for such an offer, his certainty that he was on the winning side, and one or two weak and derivative taunts, before cutting in: "All right then, die and go to hell." Harry turned to the Knight and said "I'm ready."

He held out his arms, his friends did the same, and they held hands in a chain of five. The Knight spoke: "May the Powers be just, and may Fortune favor the brave and true." There were five "Amens!" and five silent scowls. "Prepare for the first exchange," the Knight said, and the friends reluctantly released one another's hands and raised their wands to the ready.

In the seconds before the signal came, Harry filled his mind with that memory, the memory so clear the dueling room now seemed only a vague shadow, the memory of the joy of his magical adoption, _and_-- with complete belief now in Luna's old admonishment-- the memory of the pain of his friends' murder. As that memory came, he saw their spirits standing at either side of him, and there too, _in memoriam_, were all the lives and the faces of Ernie and Sarah, Terry and Anne, Colin and Luna. _I'm so sorry, I'm so glad to have known you, I'm so sorry_. "Can you help me?" he asked the two ghosts, and the Belfords smiled and nodded. "You can do it, Harry," Jack told him, "you can finish it now."

"One!" the Knight said, striking his staff to the ground.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The great stag charged out to throw itself against the green light. As Harry knew would happen, the Killing Curse had behind it not only Voldemort's power, but the power he was drawing from his four followers, power that was flowing into the Dark Lord's wand. Voldemort had ordered them, with no explanation of course, to cast only _Protego_ (since any deadlier spell would use up power their lord wanted for himself). Harry could see the truth beginning to dawn on their frightened faces, as their magic loss made their shields too weak fully to withstand the curses sent by their opponents. And Harry could also see that despite all the power Voldemort was stealing from his servants, Prongs was moving forward, was beating back the curse, but as with the Dementors the two were gradually annihilating each other like a slow motion collision of matter and antimatter. By the time the green light was consumed Prongs was only a fraction of his former size, but had enough left to leap into his murderer's face. Voldemort was too startled to twist out of the way completely, and the antler pierced him. He screamed in pain, and when he turned back to look at Harry the left side of his face was gone, crumbled away from the eyebrow to the bottom of the cheek.

The Knight gave the duelers a few seconds interval, and the friends exchanged hope-filled grins. Harry still felt the terrible aches of loss from the memories, the presences of his eight friends, like the spasms that had wracked him for so many months, but fought through them to return to that birthday memory once more, and to commune with the memories of his departed comrades. _I'm so glad to have known you. I'm so sorry. I'm so glad to have known you. _"Breathe, Harry!" Eileen said. "We know it hurts, but you're doing great!"

"Two!" the Knight said, striking his staff to the ground.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Now Voldemort drew even more power from his petrified slaves, leaving their shields weak enough to be pierced easily by the curses from Neville, Ginny, Hermione and Ron. Bellatrix had been struck by dozens of magical arrows, and was crying "Stop it, stop it!" Lucius was staring out helpless and glassy-eyed and almost walked off the platform to his death. Dolohov was clutching desperately at a gaping hole in his torso; and Draco was holding on to what was left of his privates. But Prongs was being forced back and back, and though he took almost all of the power out of the curse, a pulse of green light was left which pursued Harry relentlessly. With so little room to dodge, he had to block it from his face with his left hand. The pain on contact was excruciating, and when Harry looked down he saw the hand had turned instantly gangrenous.

The Knight gave the duelers another few seconds' grace. The situation now looked desperate. Voldemort would pull all the power he needed from his dupes in the next round, they were as good as dead anyway, and would use this to kill Harry; then he would finish the others one by one. Harry's friends didn't know how to similarly enhance Harry's power, nor (under the rules) could they attack Voldemort on their own. Harry glanced to his left, saw his best mate's eyes light up, and knew instantly: _Ron sees it._ For a chess player of Ron's caliber, the sequence was ruthlessly obvious:

_LightDark_

Knight to K-3King's Kedavra x Knight

King's Patronus advances (Checkmate for Light.)

_Hold him back Hermione, I can pull this off_. The pangs of heartbreak were so strong, coming so close together now... He went back one more time, to the memories of love and sacrifice, play and war, beginnings and ends. _I'm so sorry. I'm so glad to have known you all. I'm so sorry. _"Almost there, Harry, almost there!" said Jack and Eileen. "One more big push!"

"Three!" the Knight said, striking his staff to the ground.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" "_Avada Kedavra!_"

As Prongs left his wand, Harry looked left and saw Ron bending his knees to spring into his knight sacrifice, but Hermione was already shouting "_Impedimenta_!" not at her already-beaten opponent, but at Ron. He never came close to leaving the platform. Just as the sound of his own triumphant thought, _Attagirl, Hermione! _was completing itself, out of the corner of his right eye Harry saw another red-haired figure flash in front of him, take a green light in the chest and fall, limp and unresisting, to the ground.

_The five year old girl set her teasing brothers' clothes on fire with a burst of accidental magic... The nine year old girl snuck into the storage and made off with a broom... The eleven-year-old girl blushed with embarrassment and ran away on seeing her fantasy hero before her... The young woman, almost seventeen, flushed with joy at discovering how much the real young man loved her, from a kiss that was perfect now, that he could feel from both bodies, both memories. The knowledge that she too wished so much that this could go on, that they would have a lifetime..._

It had all taken three seconds at most, how was it possible for everything to change that much in three seconds? _Take it back. Take it back. I can't stand it, I can't stand it..._ "Yes you can, Harry," Jack said, "every day, thousands of people go through this, parents, children, lovers." Eileen added, "You'll live through it too. Open your eyes now, Harry, and look up. The war is over."

_The duel!_ he thought, _I have to--_ When he was able to make out anything through the tears and fogged-up glasses, he saw that Prongs was gone, and in his place was a young lioness crouching to leap, obviously waiting for the command to spring on her prey. She sensed him opening his eyes and looked sorrowfully into them. Harry forced himself to memorize her, not certain if she would ever come again; she seemed too solid to be a Patronus, and too colorful -- not the universal silver but Gryffindor gold with strong scarlet highlights, especially around her head -- yet she was far too bright to be anything else. Harry nodded to her, and forced out a whisper: "Go, get him; show him what you're really made of."

The lioness took one roar and one leap and was upon the enemy. Tom Riddle frantically drew out every ounce of force his allies possessed, leaving them dead and desiccated in seconds, but the vengeful predator tore at him again and again, the room echoed with his shrieks. With each attack, Riddle lost a huge chunk of his counterfeit flesh and tried to reform himself into a smaller and smaller shape. He was a dwarf-sized man; a serpent; a rat; a spider. Before the final blow came which would crumble Riddle to nothing, Harry experienced for the last time the connection between himself and the Dark Lord, and for the last time viewed the world through his old tormentor's eyes. What Harry could see was his own face, gigantic, multiplied, seeming (through a trick of spider-vision) to surround himself as in a hall of mirrors, and he felt overwhelmed by Voldemort's sheer incredulity: _To think that this face, the face of this nearsighted, adolescent boy wiping his runny nose on the sleeve of his school robe, was the one who had beaten him, and was going to be the last thing he saw before he...died_?! _**No! **_the remnant of the Dark Lord cried out; _I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!_

"Dirty little spider," Harry muttered. "That's all you ever were, a dirty little spider."

The now cat-sized lioness pounced one last time, and Riddle, Voldemort, "He Who..." was nothing but dust.

Now the lioness began to fade also, and Harry thought he heard her voice calling before she left, saying _I'm so sorry. It was so good to be with you, even for just that one minute. I'm so sorry. _Then she was gone.

"You'll be OK, Harry," Eileen told him. "I know you don't think so now, but believe me, you'll get through." And Jack said, "You kept your promise to us, Harry. Thank you." Then they were gone as well, and the only sounds in the room for some time came from the weeping of four teenagers.

After some seconds of this Harry tried to speak.

"How-- how--"

"Harry?" Hermione gently prompted.

"How could-- how could they do this to me?" His lungs couldn't cope with this kind of crying, he was going to pass out, that would be better...

"Harry? who do you mean, who is 'they'?" she asked.

"My parents. They said-- they told me it was going to be OK. They said I could do this, they-- How could they let this happen, how could they do this to me?"

"Oh, Harry."

"Don't-- don't talk like that in front of me," Ron said, resentment helping him fight through his own tears. "She was _my_ sister. She was my sister for sixteen years, she was your girlfriend for what, five minutes?"

"_I KNOW, _Ron. I know, I know."

"Both of you," said Neville, "stop it. _She_'s the one who lost everything."

Harry started to flare up, was about to begin with _Where do you get off..._ then realized Neville was the one here with every right. "I'm sorry, Neville, I'm really... I'm not...--"

"OK, Harry, I know."

"Ron?" Harry turned to his best mate, afraid of his response, but the youngest Weasley put his arms around Harry and they wept together for a while. Then Hermione and Neville joined. Sometime during the group embrace Hermione gasped and pointed at Harry's left hand; he realized it did hurt pretty bad, and looked even worse. Hermione performed a series of freezing spells to stop the gangrene spread, and from her running description of what she was doing Harry realized that he might not have made it if she hadn't noticed and responded in time. He noticed that the thought gave him a shudder, which he figured was a sign that he did want to go on after all.

"They had it backwards," Hermione said after she had finished the healing.

"What?" three voices asked.

"The Centaurs. Their star reading. It wasn't 'The Dark Lord will destroy the chosen one, and tears will fall strongly.' It was 'With the strength of his falling tears, the chosen one will destroy the Dark Lord'."

"Yeah, my 'power' is crying. I haven't cried in--" Harry realized he couldn't remember. Not since he came to Hogwarts, he was pretty sure. Not since he was in the cupboard for all his eighth birthday? When he decided he wasn't going to let them make him cry anymore? Almost ten years. "And now I can't stop. Big hero."

"_Honi soit qui mal y pense_," said the Knight, whose presence had been forgotten and whose return mildly startled the group.

" 'Honey'...what?" Harry asked, and Hermione of course had the translation.

"It means... Basically, it means 'don't you dare be ashamed of that, Harry'."

The Knight bowed in agreement, then spoke. "I only wish to say before I leave, that I have never known any who have given more honor to the names of 'witch' and 'wizard' than you six. It was a privilege to take part with you."

"Thank you, Sir Gawain," Hermione said.

"Ah, I suppose it was the green sash that gave me away."

"Yes, sir."

Sir Gawain said farewell, and vanished. "He seemed like a pretty old guy," Ron said. "I guess he knew a lot of wizards."

"Yes. One or two fairly big names among them," Hermione replied.

"We should go out," Neville said. "They're still waiting, they must be worried about us, about what will happen."

"Yes, of course." "Right." "Yeah, I guess..." Harry didn't quite think of the world outside this room as real yet, though he knew he still had bonds and duties there, friends, family. It was agreed that Harry and Ron would go out first, that Hermione and Neville would come behind, levitating Ginny's body. The four friends helped one another up, then stood together for a moment. Harry thought back to the day, almost exactly six years, when the foursome had also stood in one room together, children on the brink of their first great adventure.

"Harry," Hermione said to him, "It's over."

"What?"

"It's over. The siege, the war, it's over."

"Yeah." He knew that was momentous, and thought of what that meant to Ron, Hermione, Neville, to all his friends, comrades, family, waiting outside the room, to literally millions of witches, wizards and muggles who had also been suffering so much these last months... It didn't take away the heartbreak, but it put something else in his chest that made it much more endurable.

_A/N: I have to believe that many of you had deduced which way this was heading. Again, there will be an alternate version in which Ginny survives. I'll have to clean up a fair amount of foreshadowing to do that._

_If you've heard Berlioz's __Te Deum__, and particularly the section 'Judex crederis,' you know how spine-chilling the music is. If you haven't, one version I can fanatically recommend is the recording by Colin Davis and the London Symphony Orchestra (Phillips)._

_The anonymous medieval poem "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" tells of that knight's pentangle, green sash, and association with the Order of the Garter, whose motto ("honi soit qui mal y pense") he delivers here. As Hermione of course knows, Sir Gawain knew a number of very prominent wizards, including Merlin._


	12. Promises

**xii. Promises**

In years to come Harry could only remember bits and pieces of the next hour: coming out of the Room of Requirement, seeing the look on Moody's face that said, so so clearly, _I don't bloody believe it_; watching Mad-Eye fumble his wand to the floor for what had to be the first time in a half century; then the deafening shouts of acclaim, dozens of students throwing things into the air, whatever was handy; Lavender Brown looking intensively around for something to toss, finally seizing the indignantly protesting bust of some former professor and heaving it at the rafters; then the sound wave retreating and the throwing of things ceasing as it became clear what had happened to Ginny; being pushed and pulled towards the Hospital Wing through a crowd half eager to help him get there and half frantic to touch him, pat him, hug him; Pomfrey looking over his hand and then, with next to nothing left in the way of potion supplies, anaesthetizing him with good old Muggle chloroform.

Harry missed a good deal while he was under. The reflective wards were all down now that Voldemort was no more, the forces of the Ministry and the Order were out and about, and-- once the news of the Dark Lord's death was confirmed-- the skeleton occupation forces around Britain couldn't surrender fast enough. All Fred and George had to do to retake their area of Hogsmeade for the forces of Light was walk down the street in Harry Potter masks, the eyes charmed to send out "laser beams" with accompanying sound effects drawn from Muggle video games. Families took broom or Floo or Apparated into Hogsmeade, then rushed the gates of Hogwarts, often to discover that they and their children had just passed one another coming and going, then the owls alerting one another "I'm coming back, stay where you are!" passed one another coming and going... but it all worked out in the end, as these things do. One picture that every visitor to Hogwarts had to take was of themselves in front of the Quidditch scoreboard, which now read:

**HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE** **S**o**N**ofab**ITCH, WAR OVER**.

Harry awakened suffering from a chloroform hangover and missing his left hand. He assured Ron, Hermione and Neville that he could live with that just fine, whether or not a magical replacement was possible. He did not say, though he felt it, that there was something satisfying about the loss, as a partial self-punishment, a kind of down-payment on an account he didn't think he would ever get squared. Hermione, he was certain, would either explode at him or start crying if he did say it. He was glad to see Hagrid again, to see Dumbledore again, he was relieved to find that Cho, Angelina, Katie and the other recent graduates he knew, many of whom were now part of his magical family, had made it through OK.

He desperately did not want to see Arthur and Molly just now, but they just as desperately pleaded to see him. His military authority was gone now so the decision was Pomfrey's, and she decided to classify the visit as a medical necessity. When the Weasleys came into the room Harry felt such panic at the thought of looking at their faces and seeing how they were looking at him, he turned and buried his head in a pillow, ashamed of being so like a four-year-old but finding the alternative just impossible.

"Harry, look at us," Molly said softly. He shook his pillowed head.

"Harry," Arthur said, "Hermione told us you would think we hated you. Do you believe that?"

"No," he croaked out. He realized the pillow was ridiculous, he could just keep his eyes shut, so he put the pillow down. "No I don't think you would hate me, Mr. Weasley. I just... I can't really explain it."

"All right, dear," Molly assured him. "I expect you're thinking about whether we forgive you or go on blaming you, and there's probably nothing we can say now that will convince you there's nothing that needs forgiving. That will just have to come in time. But for now-- Harry, please open your eyes, for our sakes, it's very distressing to talk like this."

He could hardly refuse that request. Harry saw two red-eyed parents who were still trying to comfort _him_, and felt so guilty at that he wanted to pull away again, but Molly wouldn't let him.

"What do you want to happen now, son?" asked Mr. Weasley.

It was obvious that Harry was puzzled by the question, so Arthur rephrased it. "The wizarding world wants to give you anything you want now, Harry, anything. Make a wish. What do you wish for?"

The answer was suddenly obvious. "I want to go away, forget... maybe Professor Bandhit could turn me into an animal and leave me that way for a while."

Arthur and Molly both nodded as if this was exactly the response they expected. "And that," Molly said, "is one thing you can't have."

"Why not?"

"Do you remember the pledges we all took at your birthday, Harry? That we would never -- never -- allow each other to slip out of sight and mind? People often think of that as the easiest or least important part of the pledge, but it isn't. We aren't a family if we can drop out of it whenever taking part in each other's sorrow is too painful."

Harry felt the truth of this.

"So this is what you are going to do, dear. You are going to come with us to Ginny's funeral--" the sobs and tears stopped Molly from talking for a minute; she made no effort to hold them back or excuse herself for them. Finally she continued. "And stand with the rest of us, with your family, in mourning her. We all stand up together in our best robes, and we say thank you to everyone who comes to console us for losing our loved one. Nobody gets to run away from that, sweetheart, you understand?"

Harry cried and nodded, cried and nodded. "Yeah, I understand," he finally said, "I'm glad you came now," and felt a flash of _deja vu._ He told himself to remember to listen to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley: they had never let him down.

"Now there's time for you to get dressed," Arthur said. "Madame Pomfrey says you're released now, so we can go down together to the Great Hall."

Harry was a little slow in following this change of topic, though he was glad to be released. "Go down for what?"

"There's going to be a graduation ceremony, don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Hermione's promise, of course. Well, this was doable. He knew Hermione and many others were really looking forward to it and was glad for her, for them, that they would finally have it, but as for himself, Harry tried to think of it just as a kind of practice in standing in large crowds and being looked at.

The question of students' academic status was still in the air. The "graduates" weren't technically real graduates of course, since there had been no course work and no NEWTs, but the A.F.F. would probably have started a new war if Hermione's wish had not been granted. Amazingly, given how little time there had been to put it together, the graduation ceremony was quite intact: the teachers, the flowers, the banners, the certificates. There were no long speeches, and Harry certainly didn't miss them. In the wake of everything they had just been through he would have physically recoiled at the string of cliches customary to such things, about working hard and following dreams and so on. But the traditional graduation song, which had closed the ceremony every year since the first class graduated Hogwarts in the Founders' time, was still on the agenda. Harry liked the tune; it was a familiar one, having been adapted by Muggles as the Welsh National Anthem, _Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau _("Land of Our Fathers"). But the lyrics, despite their antiquity -- and they were so old they still payed tribute to the Goddess of the old matriarchal religion as the source of all magic-- had always struck him as...

"How would you say it, Hermione, what I don't like about the lyrics is that I find them... what?"

"Stridently romanticized?" Hermione suggested. They were sitting together, of course, with Ron and Neville, Dean and Seamus, Parvati and Lavender. "Maybe they are, a bit," Hermione conceded. "But I think a little romanticism is more than tolerable on these occasions." Harry wasn't sure whether by 'these occasions' she meant the end of schooling, or the end of a war, or both. "And it makes a big difference if you're singing too, not just sitting and listening to other people sing." Usually the song was sung only by the seventh years; for this class, it was thought, there was no separating one group from the rest, either by year or by house, and so the entire student body was invited to sing.

The signal was given for the music to play, and the impromptu chorus of students began:

_When witches and wizards first came to our shore_

_The seas rolled with magic, the mountains held more_

_And when nations and kingdoms have faded and gone_

_That magic will flow on and on._

_Rise! Rise! Take up your part in Her song;_

_To Her gifts you were born, _

_To Her lore you have come,_

_To Her people you'll always belong._

...and singing that line for the first time, in a group of the people he belonged with, belonged to, he felt a surge of something despite all his pre-set resistance. When he looked up at Ron and Hermione and Neville as they were singing that line, and they beamed back at him, he felt more of it.

_Rise! Rise! Take up the calling devout;_

_For the Light that brings you here,_

_Is the Light that you bring_

_The Light that will never go out!_

Harry had never heard a satisfactory explanation for how "the light that brings you" could be identical to "the Light that you bring"; he was generally told "It's a mystery." _Well, thanks. _The last line, though...

The usual practice was to put out the candles (it was always an evening ceremony) and have the graduates raise their wands and cast _Lumos_, the only spell they could all do sub-verbally so as not to interrupt the flow of the singing. It was actually a very impressive effect, Harry conceded, as the singers strove to keep up their illumination spells and their last notes, together, as long as they could. Now, he looked around the Great Hall and saw the light was coming from another source: one after another, students as young as twelve were casting their Patronus into the darkness. Everybody felt that the first singing of the last stanza didn't do justice to the marvel of this moment, didn't give it enough of a chance to shine, so they all sang it again, each vowel stretched to its vocal limit...

_Thaaaaaaa Liiiiiiiiiiiiight... _

...to give as many as possible a chance to invoke this show of joy and light, a show that everybody understood as a conclusive act of defiance against their months of exposure to cruelty and fear...

..._thaaaaaaat willllllllllll NE-VERRRRRRR..._

Even the students who had cast already, whose Patronus had emerged and flown and finally faded away, saw they had time for another, the notes were being held so long, and in this supercharged atmosphere, everybody on a giddy high at what they were already doing, it became doubly easy to do it again...

_gooooooooooooo ouououououououout!_

Harry took a breath of hope from this infectious air and cried _"Expecto Patronum!_" for the first time since the duel, and there she was again: the lioness hadn't been there only to defeat Riddle, she was still there for him also. She was only the slightest shadow or echo of what he had lost, but having that was still something. _I can't keep calling you 'the lioness,' _Harry thought. _I think I'll call you 'Gryffa,' like the feminine of 'Gryffindor.' And almost a kind of echo of--_

As these thoughts ran through Harry's mind, he noticed that all the singing had stopped, replaced by gasps and silent stares. Of the hundreds of people in the Hall, only four had ever seen a full color Patronus. "That's Gryffa," Harry said. "She's quite special, isn't she?" Gryffa flew once more around the hall, and it was the students who broke out in roars. The lioness regally accepted the tribute, returned to Harry and faded out.

Harry gave Hermione a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Good idea, having this ceremony," he said. She looked flabbergasted, and Harry was puzzled. "What, I've never complimented you before?"

"Not that way you haven't, mate," Ron said. "And believe me, I've been keeping watch for about five years for anything like that."

"Ron!"

"Oh come on, Hermione, Harry knows I'm just joking. Don't you?"

Harry had finally realized what he'd done and was not, in fact, completely sure that Ron was joking. He began blushing and was about to plead temporary insanity brought on by overexposure to Patronus, when Hermione put a finger across his lips.

"_Honi soit qui mal y pense_, Harry." Harry nodded gratefully.

"That's right, Harry," Ron added, putting an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Honey, soak the muddy pants."

----------

There was one task Harry wanted urgently to perform before the Army of the Forbidden Forest went their separate ways, but he thought he'd better go over his idea first with Ron, Hermione and Neville, since they were likely to be the toughest audience for it.

"I'd like to release everybody from their promise to me, that you always come to my rescue, as long as we're alive."

Harry wasn't too surprised at how much anger was generated by this notion. "You can't toss a magical promise away after you think it's served its purpose," Ron said.

"I don't mean dissolve it for the whole group," Harry explained, "just don't apply it to me. I don't want to be saved like that again, I couldn't take it, Ron. You have to understand that."

"Yeah, I understand that my sister died. But she died saving all of us, did you think it was only for you, Harry? Even if she hadn't loved you, even if there hadn't been a pledge, or a prophecy or anything, there was still a dark wizard who was going to come after everybody else in that room once he finished you, and nobody else could have survived a duel with him. Her brother was in that room too, and two of her best friends, not just you; did you remember that? Was she going to let all of us die to buy another five minutes of life?"

Harry wanted to say "I could have beaten him," but he realized that was something he could never really know. If it just came down to calculations of magical strength, he had to concede that Prongs could not have stood up against the complete magical energies of four wizards, plus Voldemort, all focused into one curse. But it wasn't just a matter of strength, what about his luck? Wouldn't the Powers have been just, wouldn't Fortune have favored the brave and true, somehow?

Yet even if the Powers or Fortune or Fate could tell him what they would have done to make sure he won, he knew he wouldn't want to hear it. It would be like finding out that Ginny had died for no reason, and he didn't think he could live with that kind of knowledge.

So Harry answered Ron from a different direction, but still (he thought) a legitimate one. "It wasn't just Ginny," he said, "it was Mum and Dad and Sirius and Colin. It's enough now. I've been given enough extra chances. I don't want to go on sucking up other people's lives to extend my own."

"You aren't 'sucking up' life, Harry, that's a sick way of looking at it," Hermione said. "Your friends love you, and they would come to your rescue even if there _weren't_ an oath binding them to do so."

"I know how to stop them. That was what I was going to tell them in the meeting. I can cast the spell, _Si moreas pro me, moreatur ipse_."

"Translation?" Ron asked.

" 'If anyone should die for me, let me die myself.' If I tell everybody, then they know there's no point in anybody putting their life before mine, because it won't save me anyway, I'm magically required to die if you do."

"Harry," Hermione said tearfully, "you're going back to Grimmauld Place again, not wanting to live through it when other people die--"

"No, Hermione, this is different," Harry insisted. "What I did in sixth year, that wouldn't have done anything to bring Dennis back, but this is a way of preventing other people from dying."

"Why don't people have the right to choose for themselves, Harry, if they want to sacrifice themselves for you?" Hermione asked, and Harry struggled for the words to get it across to her, finally saying:

"Look, if you were a millionaire, and some poor man kept insisting on donating to you... If you could do it, wouldn't you ask the bank to please block all these deposits, not to accept any checks from this man? Would you really say 'well, it's his right to give me his money'? I'm a millionaire, Hermione. I'm a millionaire many times over. I don't hate that money, I think it's... extraodinary money. I'm not throwing mine away. But I don't want anybody else's. I won't take anybody else's, even they want to give it to me."

Ron, Hermione and Neville were quiet for a long time after that, and Harry thought he had finally won an argument. But then Neville broke the silence:

"I'm sorry, Harry, but even if you want to, and even if it's the right thing for you, you can't. You're still the captain. You're still the one we all look up to. If you told the others you were going to give up the protection, they wouldn't feel right keeping it for themselves. They would all want to prove they could take the same chances you're taking, and we'd all lose it. You don't want to do that."

And Harry finally had to concede, he couldn't do that.

----------

Harry accepted the invitation to move into the Burrow. Hermione was with her parents, Neville with his grandmother, so Harry and Ron had lots of time together. One afternoon in the course of their customary chess match Ron picked up his king-side knight to move it into a position for a knight sacrifice, and heard it say "there are other pieces who could serve that purpose better than me!"

Harry had nightmares for years about the look that came over Ron's face that moment.

Ron put the protesting pieces back in their box and walked away from Harry. Harry waited for him to calm down and walk back. He finally did, but still looked away from Harry.

"You knew I was going to do it," Ron said.

"Yeah, I knew."

"And you told Hermione about it beforehand, so she would stop me?"

"'course not," Harry said. "If I had told her about the sacrifice move, she would have done it first herself."

"Oh yeah, right."

"I just told her to make sure you didn't slip up and come off the platform."

Ron considered things for a moment. "What am I supposed to do about something like that?" he asked. "Thank you? Curse you?"

"I hope... neither, really. 'Cause I had to do it."

"You were the captain, Harry. The sacrifice was the right tactic, and I was ready to do it--"

"You were my brother, Ron. I swore I'd never use my family as pawns, or knights, and I wasn't going to let you be one."

After a few seconds' silence, Ron said "Yeah. OK."

"I was just too stupid," Harry said, "to think about, that she--"

"Yeah. I know. She was getting really damn good, she was going to be better than me next year earliest, probably way better."

----------

A couple of weeks later, Ron picked up another topic with Harry.

"I'm going to talk to you now as your best mate," he said, "not as Ginny's brother. No, scratch that, as Ginny's brother too, because I'm sure she'd agree with me."

"That would be a first," Harry said, and the two smiled.

"Yeah, ha, ha. Anyway, in case it matters to you what I think about this sort of thing, I'm not going to feel bad when you start seeing other girls--"

"No, Ron."

"Not tomorrow; maybe in, six months, a year, two years..."

"No. That's not going to happen."

"Don't be a martyr, Harry, you don't have the look for it."

"Nope, now you've got the wrong idea. I'm not punishing myself, it's just that I made a promise. The day it happened. First -- only time I kissed her, and after it I said... _Whether I live or die, this is the last girl I'll ever kiss like that_."

"Did you make it magically binding? Tell me you didn't make it binding!"

"Does that matter?"

"How can it not matter, Harry?"

"Because I meant it just as much at the time. If I'd thought of it, I would have done the spell. If I'd been asked to do it, I would have done the spell. It's like what Luna said about keeping our promise to the prisoners. If Ginny and I had both lived and gotten married, I would have said, for the rest of my life, that from that moment I'd promised myself to her, no matter what, and she would have believed me, that would have been the truth. That's something I've got to hold on to. And if there was ever some situation, I don't know, where you could only succeed at some task if you had made a real binding love-pledge, a 'no matter what' kind of love-pledge, I would have stepped forward, and it would have worked for me. So I can't pretend now that I never made it or I meant something else by it, cause then it's like I've lost it all. I want to keep it."

Ron paused and looked thoughtful.

"You've really thought about this."

"Yeah."

"Hard thing to ask of yourself."

"People do it, Ron."

"You mean, like monks?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. Ron considered further.

"I guess it's less problem for your hip this way," he finally said.

"Ha, ha." The friends smiled and went back to their books.

----------

31 July 1998

Albus Dumbledore stepped to an improvised podium in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Behind him were almost a hundred teenagers and some dozen Ministry officials, in front of him were hundreds of parents and other spectators, to his right was a recording wizard from WWN radio making certain the ceremony about to begin would be carried not only throughout Britain and Ireland but to dozens of wizarding settlements around the world. Dumbledore began.

"Witches and wizards, members of the Ministry, honored guests. Ten months ago, dark forces employed a marvelously clever spell for a twisted goal..."

Dumbledore summarized the story of their entrapment, and then of his reaction on receiving the message from Sir Nicholas that the students were fighting on their own:

"...we members of the Order naturally took up the question with one another: what will happen to the students of Hogwarts? What chance do they have of holding out until we wise and powerful adults can come to their rescue? And I said to my friends, No rational man can believe that these children can hold out for very long against the full powers of Lord Voldemort and his armies. I was therefore very glad, I said, that I had never been a rational man."

The audience laughed appreciatively, and Dumbledore smiled back and continued. "That was the reaction of my colleagues also. But the laughter died very quickly, and every morning, for the next terrible months, we all awoke half expecting that this would be the day when we learned the walls had been broken, the students all captured, or worse. As for the idea that they could not only hold out against the Dark Army but break it... I have been called a foolish optimist-- and of all the insults which have been bestowed on my through the years, I think that is the one of which I am fondest-- but I must admit I did not dare give myself hope of that.

"Ladies and gentlemen, obviously my critics were mistaken: my failing was not being too foolish, but rather not being all the fool that I should have been, all the fool I had the potential for. I will strive in the future to correct this fault. For as you can see, standing behind me now awaiting the moment when we wise and powerful adults express our poor and inadequate tokens of appreciation for coming to _our_ rescue, are the students who defeated the darkness. Please rise and join with me in saluting, in humbly thanking, The Army of the Forbidden Forest: average age, fifteen years and ten months. Hannah Abbott..."

After the roll call and the bestowing of awards was over, and the cheers had finally subsided, Professor Dumbledore called upon the captain of the A.F.F. to speak on their behalf. Harry limped quickly to the podium, nervously cleared this throat, and began:

"Thank you, Professor, and thank you to everybody here, especially to the members of our families here now; I want you to know that you were with us all the time.

"When we made the decision to stay and fight, we sealed it by making a magically-binding pledge to each other. It's mostly Ron and Hermione's, they put it together, and it was really brilliant. It went like this: _We swear, on our lives, never to let a comrade down; that whenever there is hope for them, we will never to fail to come to their aid or their rescue; We swear, on our magic, that if any of us dies, they will always be remembered, and their story will be told; And we swear, on our magic, that those of us who make it through this war will always continue to remember, to support and to rescue one another after the war, for as long as we live_.

"And that's what held us together. None of us ever broke any of those promises. And we're still under oath now, all of us. And we always will be. I didn't even notice at the time, but I see it more clearly now, that the last promise there sounds a lot like the last vow the bride and groom take in a Muggle marriage ceremony, and that's right, because in a way we are all married to each other.

"Well, not in all ways, obviously, don't want you getting the wrong idea. Yeah, I see some parents looking relieved at that.

"But the point is that, if any of us is ever in trouble, they know they have all the rest of us ready to get them out of it, no matter what the cost, whether it's tomorrow or a hundred years from now. I mean, assuming we can all still hold our wands then. So if anybody who's listening, anybody who's heard all our names, gets the idea that they can gain some reputation from taking one of us on: it wouldn't be very smart of you to try. There wouldn't be much left of you. And that applies to other things besides picking a duel in a pub. It wouldn't be a good idea to try playing any kind of power game with any of us."

That had been the least ominous way Harry could think of to get across the idea: _we're not going to be under anybody's control, you'll all have to pay very serious, respectful attention to us, both as individuals and in whatever causes we take up._

"We all lived by these pledges to each other, and seven of us died in keeping them.

"Part of the pledge was that we would never forget those who died. It may not literally have been stated, or magically required, but we've all agreed that one way to do that is by saying that the friends, the families of the ones who died, we want you to call on us, we want you to think of us as friends and family also.

"I ask you now to rise in remembrance of those seven loved ones: Ernie Macmillan, Sarah Murphy, Terry Boot, Anne Fairleigh, Colin Creevey, Luna Lovegood and G-- Ginny Weasley."

Harry had taken the strongest Calming potion he could get before coming out, to prevent breaking down at this point and failing his duty to announce the names clearly and respectfully. It almost wasn't enough.

----------

Half a century went by with remarkable speed, and then...

----------

The Daily Prophet, November 1, 2050

POTTER DIES FIGHTING DRAGON

Harry James Potter, the wizarding world's most revered living icon, died yesterday at the age of seventy from wounds he suffered leading a mission to stop a rogue dragon that had been terrorizing Pembroke. The dragon was eventually put down by other members of the team...

Potter first gained fame as the infant Hercules who had crushed a serpent. At the age of one and a half he rid the world (or so it was thought at the time) of Tom Riddle, "Lord Voldemort," the most powerful and malignant dark wizard in the modern era, when Riddle attempted to slay the child prophesied to be the one who would vanquish him. He grew up unaware of this feat, of the prophecy, or of the very existence of magic. Having lost his parents to Riddle's attack, Potter lived for the next nine years with his Muggle relatives, in conditions of neglect bordering on abuse, until receiving his Hogwarts letter.

For each of the next seven years as a mere schoolboy Potter produced a series of achievements any of which would have been the highlight of virtually any adult wizard's lifetime. In many of these exploits he was accompanied by inseparable friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger (later Hermione Granger Weasley), now Head Auror and Chancellor of Mysteries, respectively... He later grew very close as well to yearmate Neville Longbottom (British Minister of Magic 2010-2013, European Minister 2016-2019)...

Potter will always be best remembered, though, for the events of his seventh year. In what is still considered the most miraculous outcome in the history of magical conflict he led a force made up of seventy two fellow students, some as young as fourteen, to victory over Lord Voldemort's dark army of dementors, dragons, giants, and hundreds of adult wizards. Potter finally destroyed Voldemort himself, a wizard whose power was thought to be unmatchable, in a one-on-one duel. In doing so he almost certainly rescued not only the wizarding world but the Muggle world from what would have been their most terrible Dark Age...

During one battle Potter's hip was shattered, and in the aftermath of the duel his left hand had to be amputated. A replacement hand was eventually grafted, but the hip could not be completely repaired and to the end of his life Potter walked with a discernible limp. More crucially, in the course of the conflict he lost two of his closest friends: Luna Lovegood of Ravenclaw and Ginevra Molly ("Ginny") Weasley, Ron's sister and (according to many friends) Harry's last school flame...

For almost the entirety of the twenty-first century Potter was the unofficial but universally acknowledged leader of the wizarding world. He was never Minister of Magic, but every British Minister since 2002 was elected either with Potter's implicit approval or at his explicit urging. In that year Arthur Weasley, father of Potter's closest friend and a near-father to Potter himself (he lived in "The Burrow," the Weasley home, from the time he left Hogwarts until his death), took the post, which he held for eight years. The most radical changes in wizarding culture of those years, overturning hundreds of years of fixed attitudes and practices towards Muggles, werewolves, goblins and house elves, were always supported and in many cases (it was thought) originated by Potter, or by his friend Hermione Granger Weasley. Every British Minister since then, from Neville Longbottom to current Minister Anthony Goldstein, has been a former member of Potter's legendary Army of the Forbidden Forest, and all have tread very carefully around their former commander. Potter has been credited, or blamed, with bringing down the Longbottom Ministry because of its moves at re-integrating Slytherins into wizarding society. The political dispute, Potter and Longbottom insisted, did not cause a breach in the pair's close friendship.

Potter's official title since 2004 was "General Ombudsman," a post created specifically for him and one which will most probably die with him. The position carried no formal authority, and when asked to describe its duties Potter would typically reply "I read the paper and look at my mail." A less diffident description, offered by former Minister Padma Patil, was that "Harry is the last resort for every witch or wizard who has a problem which the Ministry is either ignoring or contributing to." Not all political figures spoke so good-humoredly about Potter's unwritten and unaccountable power; some spoke of a tendency not only to correct injustices but to take up crusades and look for enemies. Even Patil conceded that Potter could sometimes make life difficult for her by "refus[ing to understand why some things couldn't be done his way, right now." In addition to these battles in the political arena Potter often aided personally in rescue or emergency operations, such as the one that took his life...

Potter never married and left no descendants, thus ending one of the longest-standing of wizarding bloodlines. He was, however, godfather to seven children: "the full Weasley," as he put it. All of those godchildren describe him as a man who cared deeply for them and inspired devotion in return, but some thought he found himself at times "out of his depth," in the words of his first godson Rupert Weasley, when it came to dealing with children or adolescents. According to Rupert, "Harry was accustomed to two kinds of relationships in his life: scornful neglect and intense, to-the-death comradeship. He found it difficult to learn other ways of connecting to people."... Potter was rumored to have been in relationships with a number of witches (including both Minister Patil and her sister Parvati), but the witches in question always either refused to answer questions or denied any romantic involvement. In later years Potter and former Minister Longbottom, another lifelong bachelor, were very often seen in one another's company...

At his request, Potter will be buried in the Weasley family plot, next to Ginevra Molly.

----------

As was wizarding custom, a "funeral book" was put together with photographs and memorabilia of the deceased, and statements and memories from those closest to him. Hermione was in charge of putting the funeral book together, and she placed on the cover some lines from the Old English poem, _Beowulf_, with only a few small emendations required:

_Thus, man and boy, he bore himself with valour;_

_he was formidable in battle yet behaved with honour_

_and took no advantage; never turned upon_

_a comrade in violence or a friend in spite_

_and, warrior that he was, watched and controlled_

_his God-sent strength and his outstanding_

_natural powers. He had been poorly regarded_

_for a long time, was taken by his folk_

_for less than he was worth: and some great lords too_

_had never much esteemed him in their halls._

_They firmly believed that he lacked force,_

_that the prince was a weakling; but presently_

_they found out otherwise, facing that arm;_

_all the old wrongs were payed for in full._

At the service, the eldest were given the privilege of being first to offer respects. Professor Bandhit, at 119, was still able to make his way to the coffin without assistance (as were Arthur and Molly right behind him). Bandhit gave the ancient Asian gesture of respect-- palms placed flat together, head lowered, fingers pointed towards the forehead-- then placed a hand on his late pupil's shoulder and spoke a few words in his native language. Those might be translated into English as:

"Just a short rest for you, I think. Then it's back to the air, old bird."

END

A/N:_ To everyone who read, bookmarked, reviewed: thank you very much. I appreciated every notice. _

_The passage from __Beowulf__ is based on Seamus Heaney's translation of lines 2177-2189. Only a few lines had to be altered._


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